


Love and Mercy

by CarolinaNadeau



Series: The Music Man: The Happily-Ever-After [2]
Category: The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man - Willson
Genre: At the footbridge, Becoming The Mask, Confessions, Courtship, Dashing former con man, Defrosting Ice Queen, F/M, Fluff with depth, Happily ever aftermath, Ladykiller In Love, Outdoor Mischief, Paroo family domesticity, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23897674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolinaNadeau/pseuds/CarolinaNadeau
Summary: The morning after Harold Hill's redemption, he spends an ordinary Sunday with his beloved Marian and his new neighbors, and finds himself reckoning with the nature of unearned forgiveness and a miracle far greater than he deserves.
Relationships: Harold Hill/Marian Paroo
Series: The Music Man: The Happily-Ever-After [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/42775
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. All Things New

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been four years or more in the making, sitting neglected along with some others while I slogged through overwhelming depression and writers' block. Huge segments of it were already 90% written, so I decided to go ahead and start publishing it at last, even though the ending isn't finished yet. I was originally planning it to be a one-shot back in the day... ha! This will be at least four chapters in total, if not five!

_I turned the corner_

_And there you stood_

_Your smile like home to me_

_Your heart familiar_

_No use pretending, not that I could_

_I turned the corner when I met you_

_I turned the corner_

_Stopped on a dime_

_Like I remembered someone_

_Long forgotten_

_No mere flirtation, no marking time_

_I turned the corner when I met you_

_~ Thoroughly Modern Millie, Scanlan/Morris/Tesori_

xxx

A long, long time ago, before life had made him jaded, before the world had taught him that only women, fools, and suckers wanted romance, Harold Hill had once envisioned the girl that he would love someday.

In the way that young children tend to think of such things, he thought of falling in love as an inevitable rite of passage, a _when_ rather than an _if_ , so that naturally led him to wonder about the _who_. His earliest imaginings were simplistic – she would definitely have to be very beautiful and very kind, he knew that much. As he'd reached school age, he'd come to realize that it was important for her to be smart, too. He was never able to understand why so many boys were scornful of girls who were as smart or smarter than them. What was remotely appealing about a girl who stayed silent and simpered in agreement and didn't even attempt to hold up her end of a conversation? She could be pretty, even beautiful, but if she didn't captivate and enchant you, how could you fall in love?

Young Harold had figured that he could never really understand the inscrutable grown-up mystery that was romantic love until he grew up and found it for himself, but he'd heard enough about what it was _supposed_ to be like to know that it necessitated a woman who he would be thrilled to be with for every second of every day, forever, and that would take a lot more than simple infatuation with a pretty face.

Over the years, without thinking about it too consciously, he slowly developed a vague but persistent sketch of what kind of girl would have his heart someday. She'd be a girl who would not be only intensely interested in whatever he had to say but left _him_ hanging on her every word, too; a girl he'd have spirited conversations with without noticing the hours go by, laugh with until they could barely breathe, and sit with in perfect silence without feeling uncomfortable; a girl who'd know him down to his very soul and find nothing wanting. And of course, this girl would have to make him happier than anything else ever had, and that was how he'd know that he couldn't live without her.

The older he grew and the more knowledge he gained about the world around him, however, the less Harold had envisioned that wonderful dream girl as an inevitable part of his future. For one thing, he had witnessed no visions of domestic bliss to aspire to, and loving, happy marriages didn't seem like something that actually happened between real people. His father was absent from his life, having deserted long before he was born, and his mother rarely even spoke of the man – and with great bitterness when she did. Certainly, Harold's mother had loved her son and done her best by him, but they were very poor and never spent a day in true comfort and security. The dream of one day finding his own idyllic family life seemed as naïve and unattainable an aspiration as the prospect that he might one day live in a gilded mansion.

So, while he certainly maintained a powerful interest in the fairer sex, love seemed like less and less of a likely outcome as he approached adulthood – and, as a man with natural charm and considerable carnal appetites, it was easy to let himself become firmly convinced that falling in love wasn't even desirable. Plenty of other men seemed to think that way, after all, even those who didn't have one-tenth of his female prospects. By the time he struck out to make his own way in the world, Harold had lost all interest he'd ever held in true love and domesticity.

In only a few short years, when he had established his life out on the road and learned the delights of charming his way into the beds of countless pretty women and earning piles of money without the least bit of honest work or responsibility, it seemed obvious to him that he had it a hell of a lot better than any man who'd let himself fall into the trap of a humdrum, conventional life.

But sometimes, riding from town to town by train, risking life and limb to sell pretty lies to innocent strangers, Harold began to feel lonely in a way he couldn't quite explain. While his usual instinct was to smirk and feel superior when he heard men around him on the train talk about their sweethearts or wives and kids at home, even when they did so fondly, there were times when it hit him as a sobering, stark reminder that he was completely, utterly alone. Late at night, he'd feel a vague, indefinable longing for a home, a place to rest and be safe, and the warmth of a pair of arms around him belonging to somebody who _cared_.

When the loneliness got _that_ bad, he always deemed it a sign that he desperately needed a drink or a woman to get his mind off such an outrageous track. So he kept himself constantly moving, chasing the fleeting thrills of money and travel and sensual pleasure to drown out any fleeting moment of doubt that, damn it, he was _happy_.

And then, in the past month, he'd had the first glimpse of true happiness he'd ever known, and Harold couldn't fool himself any longer. Anything he'd ever previously thought would make him happy had been but a pale, pathetic imitation.

Marian Paroo was the very embodiment of what he'd longed for deep down – refuge, safety, warmth, light. She was what he had been blindly reaching after all his life and tried to push away, only to bring himself nearer and nearer without knowing it until his path had led him right into her loving arms. And then there was no more need to run or hide from himself, because he liked who he was when he was with her, and he liked who she made him want to be.

In spite of all the obstacles that should have prevented it, in spite of the fact that he certainly didn't _deserve_ it, this indescribable joy he'd found was suddenly his for keeps. True, he'd renounced the only way of life he'd ever known as an adult and tossed it to the wind, but even in the light of day, Harold didn't feel the slightest inkling of regret or doubt about what he'd chosen last night at the most pivotal crossroads of his life. Shedding his former life was no more bittersweet than a prisoner shedding his chains and walking out into the light after long years of isolation.

xxx

Waking up that morning after everything had changed, it took him a few moments to remember everything – but as the memories rushed back to him, a brilliant grin spread across his face before he even opened his eyes.

Harold had tied himself irrevocably to a town and a woman and he'd never felt more free, because there was nowhere else he wanted to go and no freedom he wanted other than to be hers and to be here. He felt an incredible sense of peace that he'd never known before.

And Marian herself – what could he say to even begin to describe what he loved about her? He could have written volumes about how wonderful she was.

He _knew_ her now – even though he realized that that was a ridiculous statement, that they were only just beginning to get to know one another for real. But he now knew some deep, fundamental part of Marian Paroo that she didn't freely share with the world, a part of her that he hadn't cared to even consider when he'd first walked into River City and tried to understand her by fitting her into stereotyped boxes. His previous impressions of her had been utter fiction: she was no sinful siren hiding beneath that impeccable propriety, but neither was she some untouchable, cold porcelain figurine like he'd thought at first. No, Marian was a real woman, brilliant, brave, and strong, incredibly intelligent, clever, fiery, selfless, and fiercely loyal... and for some unfathomable reason, she loved him. Any way he could say that sentence, it was beyond belief: she _loved_ him, _she_ loved _him_...

He wanted to run through the streets shouting it, to wear her love like a badge of honor on his lapel, but more than anything, he wanted to be _with_ her again as soon as possible.

Stretching out his limbs lazily, Harold let his eyes wander over his rumpled bedclothes, and couldn't keep himself from wishing that she were _there_.

If he'd woken up with Marian in his bed that morning, Harold knew exactly how they would have spent their day. They wouldn't have left this room for hours, if at all. It was blissful just to imagine it – they could have slept as long as they wanted and recovered from the chaos of the night before, laid entwined in each other's arms and just talked about the many, many things that were still unspoken between them, and, of course, made love over and over.

Of course, the idea was preposterous on so many levels that it was almost laughable. He wanted to do things correctly with Marian, for once in his life, so she wouldn't have a moment of regret over anything they did together, and that meant that he most certainly would not be taking her to bed as anything less than his wife. The thought of waking up to her was enough to make him wish they'd run off to the first minister who'd perform the ceremony and gotten married last night, but, as lovely as the fantasy was, Harold was well aware that would have been a terrible idea in practice.

He _knew_ from what he'd seen last night that the librarian had come perilously close to allowing him to make love to her, that she absolutely _would_ allow him if they arranged themselves a whirlwind wedding, and Harold was confident that she'd love it, too – but how could she trust that he didn't want her _only for that_ if they didn't wait? It was amazing enough to him that she trusted him now, knowing what his original intentions had been. And while she'd enjoy their intimacy in the heat of the moment, how could he be certain that she would be free of guilt or shame afterward, that she would know that everything was right and good between them? The idea of her ever feeling the slightest regret about making love to him was completely unconscionable – he wanted it to be _perfect_ for her, for both of them.

This was a woman who blushed at the slightest brush of his hands and lips, who hadn't even opened her mouth to him in the few sweet kisses they'd shared last night. Simply put, Marian was nowhere near ready for a physical relationship, and a marriage ceremony alone wouldn't have changed that.

And while his beloved was obviously far from prepared for the physical aspect of marriage, Harold knew that he was far from prepared for the practical. Why, he could hardly even remember what it was like not to live out of a suitcase! He had never truly been responsible for himself, had never actually lived on his own and taken care of a house or even a flat, and he currently had no source of income and no home. The former con man knew that he needed to slow down and do all the right things in the right order – ending up with a wife immediately, with no time to even adjust to his new life on his own, might very well have made him feel like he was trapped after all, if only because he wouldn't have the slightest idea how to handle the situation. And that wasn't even considering the many, many things he still had to tell her, and the many things he was sure she must have wanted him to know about her, too. How strange and difficult it would have been to find themselves married while still knowing so little about each other! That was what a courtship was for, wasn't it?

All of these developments would take time, months – though he fervently hoped that it would take less than a year. _Much_ less, preferably. He was too utterly, completely in love with Marian to stand delaying their union for too long, that much was certain.

So, in reality, Harold couldn't justify staying in bed for one more minute today. The fact that it was Sunday was a little frustrating when he considered all of the logistical things he needed to do in order to start his new life, but really, those plans could wait a day. If today had been a weekday, he wouldn't have the opportunity to spend as much time as possible with Marian, maybe even the entire day, and that was what he wanted and needed more than anything right now. He was _desperate_ to see her. To that end, he practically threw off the covers and leapt out of bed to get ready for the day. He wondered if she was awake – if she was still at home – if she was busy. If she was thinking about him…

Abandoning the idea of even eating breakfast, Harold hastened through his morning routine – although he did enjoy taking a moment to linger over his personal appearance. He hadn't gussied up for a girl _sincerely_ since he'd been a teenager. It was not with smug confidence but with a genuine pride that he attended to the wave in his hair, the closeness of his shave and the judicious application of his aftershave in just the right amount, because it gave him an honest thrill to think of Marian gazing at him with besotted adoration, pressing her cheek to his, inhaling his scent and sighing. He could barely recognize himself in the mirror with the glow of genuine happiness that radiated from his countenance. It was a good look on him, he thought.

The only thing that sent a pang of nervous uncertainty through the newly-reformed con man's stomach in the midst of this glorious elation was the fear that perhaps Marian _wasn't_ feeling the same way right now. Yes, she'd known the truth about him for a while and fallen in love with him regardless, but she'd also thought that her love would never be requited and that he was soon to leave town. Maybe she'd realized in horror this morning that she'd pledged her love to a swindler – maybe she couldn't simply bear the risk that he'd turn out to be unreliable, disloyal, that he'd still break her heart…

The very idea of hurting her was repugnant to Harold, but how could she know that? Even as he fiercely resolved that he would become the man she deserved, he fully recognized that outwardly, there was no reason to trust him, not with the heaps upon heaps of damning evidence that showed exactly what he was capable of, even in this very town. Harold felt incredibly frustrated that there was no way he could put an unmistakable seal of honesty and sincerity on his every word and action. _Anything_ he could possibly say could be interpreted as a bald-faced lie, and it was impossible for him to prove otherwise when he had nothing but his word to give. And, up until last night, his word had been absolutely worthless, anyway.

Marian was so smart, smarter than him for sure, and she certainly knew never to believe a liar even when he tells the truth. So how could she ever truly believe him?

Sitting back down on the edge of his bed, Harold pondered this conundrum. His eyes soon fell on the torn page from the Indiana Educational Journal, which he'd left on his bedside table last night in his exhaustion. It was merely a piece of paper containing rather uninteresting information, true, but it was the most wonderful and beautiful thing anybody had ever given him. It represented so much – her change of heart about him even after she'd possessed all the proof she needed to have him run out of town, the fact that she'd fallen in love with him despite knowing full well that he was a fraud, the way she _believed_ in him and saw a man worth protecting and caring about…

Picking up the page and smoothing out the creases, it occurred to Harold that he ought to be very careful with it, for it would be so easy to lose if he didn't go out of his way right now to make sure he never would. And, as he considered where he could keep it safe and sacred, he was suddenly struck with the inspiration he'd been seeking.

What he needed to do was to offer Marian something as deeply symbolic as that torn page, something that she could hold just as dear, that she could look at and know without a doubt that his love was true and pure and _honest_.

He didn't want to push or rush her, though, nor did he want to do anything that could unintentionally reinforce any worries she had about his decision being rash and poorly considered. He wanted to _implicitly_ promise her forever, so that she would understand exactly what he meant, but not _explicitly_ – that would constitute a marriage proposal, which at this stage would make him look like a fool, maybe even untrustworthy. So he would give her something unique and irreplaceable, something that he'd never give away if he'd been planning to skip town.

Harold's suitcase was still almost fully packed in preparation for the hasty departure that would never happen, so it took a bit of digging to find what he was after – a small bundle wrapped in a swath of faded fabric to prevent harm, stashed deep at the bottom of the suitcase.

The former con man had so few personal possessions that were anything but clothing, but the ones he did have were priceless and irreplaceable. This bundle contained the only objects of real significance that he owned. One was his late mother's Bible; the other, kept inside a small, weathered wooden box, was her brooch, the single piece of jewelry she'd owned by the time she passed away, the rest having long been pawned off to support the two of them.

There was one new treasured possession he could add today – the torn page from the journal. And, quite fortuitously, the Bible would work well as a place to keep such a memento safe.

Flipping through the thin, delicate pages that he'd scarcely ever looked at, Harold scanned for a place in the book that seemed appropriate. He didn't really know enough about the Bible to choose a significant page, but the Book of Psalms sounded like at least the correct neighborhood for some passage about joy and redemption. Deciding to revisit the matter in more detail later, he gave the journal page a quick kiss, not even caring how foolish that behavior made him seem, and tucked it between the pages.

Then, removing it from its box, Harold carefully examined the brooch for the first time in years. It was a tortoiseshell round, a deceptively dark brown that turned to brilliant amber when light shone through it. There was a delicate gold inlay around the border and, in the center, a gilded design depicting a sheaf of wheat. By modern standards, it must have been noticeably out of fashion, but he had always thought it beautiful.

He'd carried it hidden in his suitcase through all his years of depravity, never imagining it would have any sort of use other than as a reminder of the only time he'd had anything resembling a home and family, a time that felt like another life entirely. Now he had found a new purpose for it at last – and Harold rather liked the fanciful idea that maybe, this was in fact the fated purpose for which he had taken it and kept it with him in the first place.

His mother had only ever wanted to see him happy and secure, and now he finally was. Starting today, he no longer needed her possessions buried away like his conscience, and his life and world no longer comprised the contents of a suitcase.

Before he left the room, he tucked the brooch into his pocket.


	2. Into the New World

_Of all God's miracles large and small,  
The most miraculous one of all  
Is the one I thought could never be:  
God has given you to me._

_~ Fiddler on the Roof, Bock/Harnick/Stein_

xxx

Harold tried to keep his expression under control as he strolled through the town center on his way to the Paroo house. He didn't want to give off the impression that he was too proud of himself, too smug or cocky – he wanted the River City-ziens to be assured that, while immeasurably grateful for their forgiveness, he was primarily penitent, ready and willing to work hard for them. The last thing he wanted was to look as though last night hadn't really changed him at all.

But it was hard to keep the sheer elation off his face or the spring out of his step on the happiest morning of his life. At the very least, he hoped it was apparent enough that the sincere joy he was displaying today was different than his usual salesman's glib confidence.

Thankfully, nobody that he passed by regarded him with disdain, as much as he knew they deserved to do so. All of his passing encounters were quite amicable. Three different young boys even called out to him in excitement, their parents looking on with glowing approval.

Harold also found that, in the actual presence of the townspeople, he didn't need to make a conscious effort to look humbled, even a bit sheepish. They had such high hopes for him, and he so wanted to live up to them now, but – how could they not see that he had nothing to teach or offer?

It was the ever-present thought of Marian that steadied him again. He wasn't alone in this. She had the greatest musical mind in this town and probably many others, and she was completely on his side. Things were going to change – he was no longer pretending to know anything he didn't, after all. Marian had promised to teach him, and he was genuinely excited to learn.

Then he was thinking again about how she was beautiful and wonderful and in love with him, and he was back to having to fight off that too-huge grin.

xxx

Just like the night before, when Harold came in sight of Marian's yard, he saw her standing at the corner of her porch and his breath caught in his throat. Last night, although she'd looked positively delicious in that red dress, there had been tension in her posture that he'd been able to perceive even from a distance, but this morning, she stood soft and easy, leaning against the porch column. In a lacy, delicate white lawn dress with her golden hair glinting in the morning sun, Marian had the appearance of an angelic vision. Her hat dangled from one hand, white ribbons flowing in the light summer breeze.

Seeing her relaxed him already, even as his heart quickened in excitement – while he could hardly judge her innermost thoughts and feelings on the basis of her choice in attire and her posture, she did not look to him like a woman who'd woken up this morning full of fear and regret, who expected to very soon either give or receive dreadful news. She looked like a woman in love who knew she was loved in return.

Harold tried to preserve his dignity somewhat, but he could already feel himself starting to walk faster as he approached her gate. Then Marian caught sight of him and her beautiful face lit up in a way that no one, no one but her had ever looked at him, and he instantly abandoned all attempts at maintaining his composure.

"Marian!" he called out, almost childishly, as he ran those last few steps to close the distance between them. Fortunately, his beloved responded just as effusively, exclaiming his name and rushing to take his hands with the same exhilarated disbelief.

"You're really here," she breathed, eyes shining like stars.

He felt himself laughing out of a joy he couldn't contain. "Where else could I go? I couldn't wait another minute to see you."

The wave of emotion that swept through him at being in her presence again and seeing the love in her eyes was almost overwhelming, and he very nearly drew her into his arms and kissed her right in her front yard on a Sunday morning, simply because he could find no other way to express himself. But there was no rush anymore, and it was time to begin doing things properly.

He really had no idea of the proper etiquette in this situation, where two people had just begun courting yet already declared their everlasting love and devotion – he had never been concerned with the details of proper courtship in the first place, never mind in such a complicated and unique situation.

Still, Harold couldn't pretend that this was a _completely_ ordinary day. He settled on embracing her ever so briefly and pressing a warm kiss to her forehead and then her cheek, a gesture that made her sigh with happiness. Then, very reluctantly, he released the librarian and took her hand instead.

As he gently stroked her palm with his thumb, he tried to think of what he could say that wasn't a complete outpouring of unchecked emotion – something sufficiently ordinary. He settled on, "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, very well," she answered, and Harold adored that she found something to blush at even in that simple question. "Did you?"

"Better than I ever have in my life – but then as soon as I woke up this morning, there was absolutely no possibility that I could sleep for another moment. I had to see you right away."

Marian nodded with a laugh. "It was the same for me! I've been awake for _hours_."

Thinking of how worked up he'd gotten in his own impatience to see her, Harold immediately felt bad for sleeping so late. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

"Well, it wasn't _so_ long," she assured him. "I did have to eat breakfast and get ready, after all. And Mama wasn't letting me go anywhere until I'd told her every detail about last night!"

All things considered, it _had_ probably worked out for the best for her to have awakened first; among all the other things that made getting dressed for the day more difficult for a woman, he had no idea how long it must have taken her to get her hair into that gorgeous, complex chignon. Someday, he hoped he'd get to see how she did it – after he'd been the one to unpin and muss her previous coiffure, of course…

Suddenly realizing what he was thinking, and in _front_ of her, after he'd fully resolved to be nothing less than a perfect gentleman, Harold practically choked on whatever words he'd been planning to respond with, feeling like an absolute cad. Hastily answering her unknowingly-provocative comment with an understanding nod, he searched for a way move the conversation along and dispel those enticing mental images of her brushing out her long golden hair as it tumbled down around her shoulders – _no, not that_ –

"I was hoping that we could spend time together today – anywhere you want," he announced, praying that his moment of distraction hadn't been apparent to her. "Of course, I hope I'm not bothering you. It is Sunday, after all, and I know you, ah, might be on your way somewhere already."

"Bothering me? I'd ask you to join me in a heartbeat, if you're willing." Her words were bright and earnest, but right after she'd spoken them, she suddenly cast her eyes down and took a few slow, aimless steps to the side, as if the flowerbed had somehow caught her attention. "I'm sure you don't want to come to church with us, though. There's going to be a picnic afterward, so if you want, you can join us there."

This abrupt change in her demeanor, which up until this moment had been as jubilant as his own, was distressing. Her guarded evasiveness put Harold in mind of the way she had behaved last night, when they'd conversed almost on the very spot where they were now standing. It only took a moment or so to figure out why, however – it was because something very important to her was riding on his response to this invitation. He realized that she both expected and feared that he did not believe in God, making her both embarrassed to extend the invitation and even more afraid to hear how he would answer.

Harold had never been an atheist, though – that took far too much certainty about the unknowable, too much commitment to something that he had no real investment in, and it was far too bleak an outlook for a man who'd always held _some_ sort of hope in his heart, if not for his own life. If only for the sake of his poor mother's eternal soul, he'd always at least _hoped_ that there was a God, though he'd come to accept that there was no way that any righteous deity would want a thing to do with him after all he'd done.

But today of all days, Harold happened to be feeling more receptive to religious sentiment than he had in all his life. Whatever had happened last night, whatever had happened here over the past month, well, it couldn't have been strictly natural. He shouldn't be standing here today, alive, unharmed, and exonerated, with the unconditional, honest love of the most wonderful woman who ever lived.

How did that barely-recognizable _Minuet in G_ come from the boys he hadn't taught a single note? How was it that the parents reacted to it with such unanimous, uproarious approval? How had every obstacle that ought to have prevented him from staying in River City and building this new, honest life with the woman he loved been whisked away in a single hour?

It was not only improbable, but verging on the impossible – a miracle. He wasn't sure about the specifics, but he was now as convinced as anybody could be that there had to be _some_ kind of higher power pulling the strings in the universe, and one that wanted him to live and be happy, for some inexplicable reason.

Besides, it was so domestic, the idea of sitting side by side with his sweetheart in church, and he'd furtively, guiltily wished for _weeks_ for something just like this. Harold wanted to be a part of her life in every way, and while he certainly planned to build a new and wonderful life for the both of them, that would include being welcomed into the life that she and her family were already living.

All of these thoughts passed through his head in the space of a second or two before he stepped over to Marian, taking her hand so she'd look at him. She turned to face him again, expression nervous and hopeful.

"Of course I'll go with you, if you'll have me. As a matter of fact, though it's not something I'm accustomed to, church sounds... like it might be something good for me today." Harold hadn't planned on speaking so intimately with her already – he figured that would go against his goal of having as ordinary a day together as possible – but if she ever started to worry like she just had, he assumed that it was most important to let her know exactly what was on his mind, so he continued.

"See, I hadn't prayed in years, but I prayed like I never prayed before last night for God to grant me this one thing – for your sake, if not my own – and, well, here we are this morning, against all odds. If God really is still listening to a depraved former con man, He deserves a lot, a _lot_ of thanking today. More than I know how to express. And besides, God's generally considered a leading player in the business of turning one's life around, isn't he? Wouldn't hurt me to implore some divine aid." He gave her hand a gentle kiss, hoping she could see the sincerity in his eyes.

As he spoke, he'd been relieved to watch the tension in her bearing dissipate, her beautiful smile returning. Yet she still regarded him with a modest blush coloring her cheeks, as if he hadn't just given her a definitive _yes_. "Well – if it really won't bother you…"

"I promise it won't." Then, quite suddenly, a rather embarrassing issue occurred to Harold, and he stumbled over his words a bit as he attempted to broach the subject without sounding like a fool. "Now, wait, is this – do I understand correctly – are your services in Latin?"

"Latin?" Marian cocked her head, frowning briefly. "I think you're thinking of a Catholic service. We're Presbyterians."

"You're not Catholic?" he blurted. The idea that the Paroos could be otherwise had not occurred to him, what with Mrs. Paroo's constant appeals to various saints and proud shamrock-wearing Irishness.

"My mother became a Presbyterian when she married my father, who was _not_ Irish – at least, not nearly so _recently_ Irish, though he had some in his ancestry. However, her conversion was mostly nominal, as I'm sure you can tell. So perhaps I am more Catholic in my upbringing than your average Iowan, but I do still attend the same church as half of River City. One less thing to make me a pariah here, at least."

There was very little bitterness in her words, almost a sort of humor about them, but Harold still felt a pang in his heart. He must have looked stricken, for Marian quickly shook her head with a smile, giving his hands a little squeeze.

"Oh, don't worry about that, please," she insisted. "That's all over now, and I have _you_ to thank for it. I don't want to talk about any of that right now."

She looked so earnest that Harold determined that she truly was not dwelling on it, so, relaxing, he tried to pick up the thread of their conversation. "I have to say, I hardly understand the actual difference between Catholics and Protestants, never mind Presbyterians and – and Methodists, Baptists, whatever the others are…"

(Despite his lack of knowledge, the newly-reformed con man _did_ feel a distinct sense of relief that his love and her family weren't actually Catholic, though, as he was fairly certain that Catholicism tended to be considered the most unreasonably demanding of the Christian denominations, Latin or no.)

Marian laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "Neither do I, really, except that each group is certain that all the others are doing everything wrong and therefore aren't really Christians at all. I've never understood that, though. How could I, when I was raised almost-Catholic myself? I think that God, well, Jesus, is the important part, and we all have that in common."

"That's because you're so kind and open-hearted." To his great surprise, Harold actually felt himself blushing a little bit, so completely unused to feeling and speaking so tenderly.

"Maybe," she conceded with a pleasant blush of her own. "If that's how you think of me."

"I only think it because it's true." Stroking her palm and gazing at her with warm affection, Harold almost lost his train of thought completely. She even thought that _he_ could be good – was there any human being who had ever lived who was so forgiving and gracious?

He was actively fighting the urge to just pull her close and kiss her right then and there to show her how much he loved her when he remembered the single misgiving that had been nagging at him ever since she'd broached this subject, and his reverie broke, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach.

"I do have to wonder if a man like me even belongs in any church, though," he admitted quietly, dropping her hands and stepping back a little. "Even a forgiving God has got to have His limits somewhere."

Eyes growing wide, Marian met him with a step forward and immediately clasped his hands again before he could even finish reaching to fiddle with his pocket watch.

"You mustn't think that way – you've got it all wrong!" the librarian declared with fervor. " _Anybody_ who sincerely seeks forgiveness and mercy deserves it, and will receive it. There are no limits, no conditions. And it's you who'd be welcome in church most of all!" She suddenly looked as though she were absolutely bursting with things she wanted to say, her words tumbling out in a joyful rush that he could barely keep up with. "Jesus Himself told a parable, with sheep – um, you don't want to hear the whole thing, but – 'there is more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than ninety-nine righteous men who need no repentance.'"

Harold had to admit that the verse she'd quoted held an immense appeal for him in his current situation. Of course, it was _Marian's_ love and trust and forgiveness that mattered to him most, and he had resolved that he would do everything he had promised and more for the people of River City, too – but he had wronged far, far more people in his lifetime than he could ever make amends to personally. Maybe a sense of forgiveness from God would be what he needed to let go of the guilt that weighed so heavily upon him and start anew, to take the first steps toward learning to feel worthy of Marian after all.

But he didn't say any of that aloud, feeling that it was perhaps a little much and that it was too early in the day to overwhelm her with any more weighty declarations. Right now, he wanted their conversation to once more be light and playful, and, grinning down at the lovely librarian, he couldn't resist teasing her for the amusing non-sequitur she'd just dropped in her enthusiasm. "Sheep?"

She blushed prettily again, hand sweeping across her face to brush back a strand of hair that wasn't actually there. "You don't want to hear the whole thing. It's just, well, a metaphor – you see, if a shepherd – "

"Marian, dear! What's keeping you?" Mrs. Paroo's lilting voice came ringing through the yard as the front door opened and the sprightly matron emerged, wearing an extravagantly flowered hat and clutching her purse. As soon as she caught sight of Harold standing in conversation with her daughter, a jovial grin spread across her face. "Why, Professor Hill! What a wonderful surprise!"

"Top o' the morning, Mrs. Paroo!" Harold called back with a tip of his hat. He felt oddly self-conscious around his beloved's mother now, seeing her this morning after all the dust had settled and she'd had time to think over the whole situation – but judging by the irrepressible joy on her face, it seemed that he needn't have worried that she had developed any misgivings about him overnight. He had to remind himself that she was the person who'd stood up for him first last night, second only to her daughter in her unfailing support.

Darting out from behind his mother came Winthrop in his Sunday best, and for a second Harold held his breath. He hadn't hurt anyone as badly as he had the young boy, and as much as it had seemed that all had been forgiven, he didn't know if he could really expect that Winthrop would still trust him in the same way the others did. And if he didn't...

Incredibly, though, Winthrop almost leapt down the steps in his rush to reach his side. Both Paroo women uttered half-hearted token admonishments to the boy that he ought not to muss up his Sunday clothes, but Harold could tell that neither mother nor daughter particularly wanted to see him stop, not when he was so full of joy and enthusiasm, not when last night they'd watched him nearly lose all of the progress he'd made this summer.

"Harold! Are you coming with us to church?" Winthrop exclaimed, bouncing up and down on his toes ever so slightly.

That bold question earned the boy another light scolding from his mother and sister, but Harold simply laughed, patting Winthrop's brilliant-red hair affectionately while trying not to rumple it too much. "I am, indeed. Your sister invited me."

At that, Winthrop nearly leapt into the air in celebration. "Hooray!"

Seemingly at the sound of Winthrop's voice, a small dog came darting from around the back of the house, jumping excitedly at the boy – and prompting _more_ expressions of concern about keeping his clothes clean. Then, with an almost frantic excitement, the dog noticed Harold and dashed over to paw eagerly at his leg.

"See, that's Mickey that I talked about yesterday," Winthrop declared proudly. "He's not _really_ mine – he's not anyone's – but he lives around here, and he likes me the best. And look, he really likes you, too!"

Smiling, Harold crouched down to pet Mickey, who continued to pant and wag his tail frantically, looking up at him with large, expressive eyes. "Why, hello there! I don't believe we've met."

After a few moments had passed with the dog's great interest in Harold not diminishing in the least, Marian attempted to intervene. "Come on, Winthrop, you'd better shoo him off. We don't want him following us all the way to church!"

Hearing a hint of laughter in her voice, Harold turned to look at Marian and saw her looking back at him with such sweet affection that it just about melted his heart – and she blushed just to be caught gazing at him like that.

He couldn't be sure, but he strongly suspected that her expression of extraordinary tenderness stemmed from seeing the man she loved together with the charming puppy for which she must have had a soft spot. It fit well with her nature that she should be a lover of animals, Harold thought, and he could feel himself growing to love her even more already from this small, delightful thing he'd learned. It felt like it should have been impossible, but he was now beginning to understand that it never would be, that as head-over-heels as he was for her now, he had hardly begun to scratch the surface of how many things he would find to love about his dear little librarian.

Perhaps, he realized, she was making the exact same discovery right now, and that was the reason why she was so utterly aglow.

Still attempting to maintain a no-nonsense attitude despite the warmth in her eyes, Marian shook her head as if exasperated. "Mickey doesn't normally give us so much trouble on Sundays. He's certainly very fond of you!"

"Mickey's not the only one," Mrs. Paroo remarked slyly.

Marian's face turned redder than he had ever seen it as she turned on her mother in embarrassed disbelief. "Mama, _please_ – "

"Ah, he's really no trouble at all," Harold insisted, giving the dog's ears a friendly ruffle – and giving Marian a quick wink when she met his eyes again, enjoying far too much how adorable she looked when she was flustered. "But your sister's right, son – we'd better get going." He stood up, but Mickey continued to whine and reach for him relentlessly. "You know how to make him settle down?"

"Yeah." Drawing himself to his full, diminutive height, Winthrop gave a quick clap to catch the dog's attention. "Mickey, lay down!"

After the boy pointed imperiously in the direction of the yard for a moment, Mickey seemed to get the message, and he trotted over to lay down placidly beside the front stairs, chin atop his crossed paws, looking a bit sulky.

"Good boy," Winthrop called. "I'll be back to play with you later." After turning away for a second, he pivoted back to holler, "And Harold will be back, too!"

"Well, shall we go?" Stepping to Harold's side, Marian reached hesitantly for his hand and then stopped herself, uncertain, clearly stymied by the lack of any precedent or routine in their extremely young relationship.

He wasn't exactly sure what to do, either, largely because he felt a bit sheepish at the prospect of taking his beloved's arm right in front of her mother and felt suddenly overwhelmed by all he didn't know about how to conduct himself in a proper, virtuous courtship.

At any rate, he simply could not imagine strolling beside Marian today _without_ touching her in any way – he wanted to be as close to her as possible now that it was finally permissible, and he couldn't deny that he wanted all of River City to see that they were together, too. So he did what felt natural and right and tucked her arm under his own as they set off, and judging by the indulgent smile that Mrs. Paroo graced them with, they had done absolutely nothing wrong.

Winthrop peppered him with questions as they walked to church, and Harold answered all of them as best he could, proudly holding Marian's hand the entire way, loving the brand-new intimacy of hearing her responses and laughter coming from beside him. Whenever he glanced over at her, his heart warmed to see that she looked positively radiant to be strolling arm-in-arm with him. Even though they were only touching in the most restrained and proper of ways, her warm, lovely presence at his side sent his heart soaring, especially when he felt her nestle just the tiniest bit closer to his side a couple of times, completely imperceptible to anybody but the two of them.

As the four of them made their way across town, it dawned on him slowly that, for the first time in his life, he was experiencing what it was like to be part of a happy family, and it was he knew he would never get enough of this feeling.


	3. Amazing Grace

_To love another person is to see the face of God._

~ _Les Misérables_ , _Boublil/Natel/Kretzmer_

xxx

As valiantly as he tried to blend in and slip into the ordinary rhythms of River City life, Harold felt like he might as well have been wearing his bandleader hat and jacket to church from the way people stared at him as they moved into the denser crowds leading to the entrance of River City's First Presbyterian Church.

Even in a tiny town like this, Harold was well aware that there had to be many people who'd had no significant dealings with him, but he also knew that word of mouth was a powerful thing. He'd probably have garnered enough attention merely by being a new face in the churchgoing crowd today, even if his presence in town thus far had been completely unremarkable, so how could he hope to avoid stares when he'd singlehandedly changed the face of River City and then survived a public trial in handcuffs to prove his legitimacy?

Of course, there was the fact that he was by Marian's side, too, where everyone expected him to be. His little stroke of genius with the books had already made her quite deservedly popular with the prominent ladies of the town, but last night's events had elevated the librarian to the same level of local notoriety he'd purposely crafted for himself over the past month. He knew that speculation about the nature and circumstances of their relationship must have been one of the hottest topics among River City's ladies today.

Harold very much hoped that Marian had already told them what she'd confessed to him last night about her Uncle Maddy, or he feared that their speculation could verge on the unkind. Thankfully, everybody who greeted Marian this morning clearly regarded her with warm admiration.

There were actually quite a few familiar faces among the congregation, including a few members of the school board and their families, and the Toffelmiers, Marcellus happily arm-in-arm with Ethel while children flocked to dark-haired Myrtle to lead them to Sunday school. And of course, excited young boys who'd made their musical debut the night before, and their proud parents, waved hello to him at every turn.

Although all of the attention on him was more than a little disconcerting, to the reformed con man's immense relief and surprise, it was all positive attention. Anticipating a tougher challenge eventually, he scanned the crowd for Mayor Shinn and his family, but saw no sign of them, and it wasn't as though Mrs. Shinn's hats were easy to miss even in a crowd. Maybe the Shinns attended a different church, then? Harold could feel himself breathing himself a little easier as he considered that he might be spared an encounter for the time being with the one remaining resident of River City who hadn't graced him with this inexplicable complete forgiveness. Really, the fact that only one person seemed to think at all poorly of him was a downright miracle in itself.

Even with so many curious eyes on him and so much running through his mind, when Harold stepped across the threshold of the church with the woman he loved by his side, fingers still discreetly entwined with hers, everything else fell away for a moment. He hadn't been expecting such a reaction, but as his eyes took in the lofty ceiling, the sunlight pouring in through tall windows, the path to the flower-strewn altar…

With a dizzying rush of emotion, he realized that this was the place where he would marry her.

The images that simple thought brought to his mind were almost too beautiful to bear. Marian in white, looking even happier than she had last night, if that were possible, standing at that altar and vowing to love him forever and ever while he did the same… And she was already wearing white today, making it even easier to imagine. He didn't know much about what brides wore, but he was picturing flowers woven throughout her hair. He wondered if she could wear those delightful banana curls like she'd worn last night on her wedding day, or if that would have been too improper for a bride, according to the rules of women's fashion that he couldn't hope to understand. She'd look so _sweet_ like that, though…

When he got ahold of himself enough to fully process what he was thinking about, he was rather amazed that these thoughts weren't frightening him out of his wits, considering that not twenty-four hours ago he would have sworn up and down that you'd never catch him with a ring on his finger. But he now knew that even then, he would have been blatantly lying to himself, protesting too much in order to push away the overwhelming new feelings and dreams for the future that Marian inspired in him. He hadn't known how it felt to _want_ to be with a woman forever before meeting her, and once he'd become aware that he felt that way about Marian, what had frightened him was just how _much_ he wanted it.

But he wasn't the least bit afraid of that anymore, not now that his wildest, most improbable dreams for a life with Marian were coming true. Just the thought of this woman as _his wife_ was the most beautiful thing he could imagine, even knowing that it wouldn't be reality for a long while. As husband and wife, they'd have a home and a bed and every, every day together, to talk with her, make her smile and laugh, take care of her so she was never unhappy and, yes, make love to her, though he was quite determined not to think about _that_ while in church.

He'd never been more certain about anything in his life than he was about Marian, and in a way, he'd already promised himself to her, heart and body and soul, the night before when he'd decided to stay in River City and never leave her side. There was a "forever" implicit in that, and it was one he was more than happy to promise. He'd tucked his mother's brooch in his pocket this morning with the intent of making that promise more concrete, in fact. So how was contemplating matrimony really much different than that?

He was actually grateful that he possessed none of the domestic nor financial means he would need to marry her – if it were at all, remotely possible for them to wed any time soon, Harold didn't know if he could have stopped himself from popping the question long before they'd gone through the stages of a proper courtship, simply because he already loved her so deeply and completely and wanted to make her every promise in the world. Still, he also didn't want to waste a single moment in building the life he wanted to share with her in River City. Obviously, nothing could be accomplished today, but first thing tomorrow, he was definitely heading downtown to figure out how he could get a shop established as soon as possible –

"A penny for your thoughts?" Marian was looking up at him shyly from her place beside him. "You were smiling."

Harold covered her small hand with his own – was that appropriate in church? – and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, trying to decide what to say to let her in on how he was feeling without revealing just how drastic his thoughts had been.

He barely even remembered how they had ended up sitting side-by-side in a pew – he'd let her lead, given that she already did this every Sunday, and he'd been caught up in his romantic daydreams the entire time! If it weren't for her, he'd probably still be standing in the doorway, staring at the altar.

"I – I was – " Not only did he need to keep Marian's comfort level in mind, he also had to be careful not to be too effusive, given that they were in very close quarters with so many of their friends and neighbors who might overhear. But it was that particular thought that finally provided him with exactly the means to express himself. "I'm just so happy being with you today. And, well, being here has made me realize that I'm truly a part of River City now. That we're surrounded by _our_ neighbors. I like the idea of having things that are ours."

Perhaps that had been too romantic after all, but it was worth it to see Marian looking like all the breath had been knocked out of her, like she almost would have melted into his arms and let him kiss her right there in that church pew.

"I like that too – very much," she confessed in a candid, intimate whisper.

Her response couldn't have been more wonderful. _Too_ wonderful, really, considering where they currently were and how desperately he was trying to keep himself from saying anything too dramatically declarative. Not trusting himself to speak, Harold simply clasped her hands, beaming at her.

It was somewhat of a relief when the reverend finally called the congregation to attention, if only because it was an extraordinary effort to keep himself from mooning openly over her, and he knew they must have looked like lovesick fools to anybody who was paying attention. Close enough that he could feel her warmth and catch the lovely aroma of her perfume, on this first day he was free to be in love with her, it would be all he could do not to look at and think about Marian to the exclusion of all else. But he truly did want to be a proper participant in this service so as not to disappoint his beloved, and, besides, he fancied that he might even learn something comforting, if the subject of the service were anything like the tidbits that she had shared with him in her front yard.

Turning to face forward, Harold tried to be present in the moment and concentrate on the matter at hand. Already, he felt conspicuously like somebody who did not belong, as the congregation was led in a hymn that they all seemed to know by heart while he flipped hastily through a hymnal book trying to figure out what it was.

In a matter of moments, however, he abandoned that task entirely, unable to do anything but gaze at Marian as her angelic voice poured out of her as if it was hardly any effort at all, just as it had when she'd confessed her love to him. She should have been standing at the front of the church singing, not merely a single voice among the crowd, he thought with immense pride. He wondered if she'd ever performed in public, if there might be any opportunities for her to do so. If not, maybe he could _create_ one, he realized. That thought was probably best left until after he had the band well established, but he liked the idea very much, and he tucked it away in the part of his mind that was newly freed up to hold all of his plans for the future.

As the singing concluded, the portly Reverend Klein bid a warm welcome to the new members of the congregation present today, and Harold felt distinctly singled out – somehow, he highly doubted that there were any others, and he also thought it unlikely that the man made this pronouncement weekly in a place like River City. Marian even nudged him, a sweet smile on her face, and he could feel himself actually blushing, a sensation he was entirely unaccustomed to.

All of this only made it more difficult for him to concentrate on what was happening, but he reminded himself that he would have every other moment of the day to think about how much he adored his dear little librarian – right now, what would make her happiest was if he participated fully in the service, and _especially_ if he got something out of it. Harold resolved to treat this as if it were a class in which he was intent on earning top marks.

He thoroughly expected this to be an uphill battle. The concept of the Lord mentioned in all these prayers and psalms was still high and lofty, difficult to decipher. This God referred to with all the _thees_ and _thous_ didn't seem like the same God he was desperately praying to last night, and later thanking. He wasn't sure where to find the divinity that had intervened to give him such happiness in those dense and ancient words.

But all he had to do was take one little glimpse out of the corner of his eye at his sweet love beside him, and his fervor returned, flowing easily from his heart.

_God, whatever I did to deserve her, I promise to keep doing it forever. I don't know why you gave me this second chance, why you gave me her, but I will never, ever take her for granted –_

Reverend Klein's booming voice rang in his ears, jumbling up his thoughts, and Harold quickly reminded himself that he'd better try and keep up with the service itself.

Reaching to the pew in front of him, he picked up the Book of Common Worship and leafed through it, trying to orient himself in the midst of this performance that was so familiar to every other person in the room.

Directly after the prayer that he hastily deduced that the preacher was now reciting, there was a section ominously titled "The Confession of Sins", and Harold froze in alarm, his stomach jolting. But no, this too was simply a prayer to be recited by the entire congregation, and, as voices began rumbling up around the room, he murmured the words quietly along with them, eyes fixed on the page and a feeling of heat rising in his face.

_"Thou alone know how often we have sinned: in wandering from Thy ways, in wasting Thy gifts, in forgetting Thy love."_

As much as he needed the book to follow along, the reformed con man couldn't help but glance up at the people surrounding him. Saying those words in unison with everybody else, especially Marian beside him, felt patently absurd – he knew for a fact that nobody else in that church had sins that could compare to his, hell, probably not even to _one_ of his. How could he possibly include himself in this "we"?

Then, without even looking at him, Marian slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and placed it on top of his own, as if she knew the comfort that he needed in that moment… and all at once, he felt like he was standing face-to-face with the embodiment of such undeserved, absolute forgiveness and love.

No, this was meant to be about _God_ , not Marian, he quickly corrected himself. But maybe drawing the parallels would help him understand.

Reverend Klein continued the next part of the confessional prayer alone, while the congregation remained bowed, and after an awkward moment of trying to figure out what to do, Harold bowed his head along with them, listening intently to every word.

_"Almighty God, who doth freely pardon all who repent and return to Him, now fulfill in every contrite heart the promise of redeeming grace, through the perfect sacrifice of Christ our Lord, and keep us evermore in the peace and joy of a holy life."_

The congregation went on to recite something else after that, but Harold didn't really hear it, still focused on those words, the promise of pardon, redemption, forgiveness. True, "the perfect sacrifice of Christ our Lord" was the same sort of esoteric thing that had always flown right over his head as a child – maybe Marian could explain it to him at some point, she seemed good at that – but the rest seemed pretty clear to him.

 _Freely_ pardon – that was the key word, the same sort of thing the librarian had said in her front yard this morning, and the hardest part to wrap his mind around. There was no price to be paid, no distinction between the most reprobate sinner like himself and some farmer a few rows down who was probably atoning for uttering a single "damn" last week... or Marian herself, who was surely guilty of even less than that!

Was it as easy as all that? Ask for forgiveness, and it was granted? God wouldn't strike him down for his crimes with fire and brimstone?

_Tar and feathers?_

It came to him like a revelation, even though he didn't _quite_ comprehend it. That was what this was all about.

Harold didn't know much about wooden pews and hymns and _thees_ and _thous_ , the sitting and standing and kneeling. But he knew what it meant to deserve punishment and receive mercy instead. And all at once it didn't seem unreasonable to think that the God these people came to worship was in fact the same one who had moved heaven and earth for him to come out unscathed last night.

If God had wanted to pour out wrath upon him, last night was the ideal opportunity, and maybe things _would_ have been different if he'd tried to flee, if he'd taken the money and run, if he'd seduced Marian and broken her heart after all. But he'd turned back from that path and promised never to harm another soul, he'd pledged his love to her, and he'd been spared. Delivered from the lion's den – transformed on the road to Damascus –

And as for Marian, what she deserved was nothing short of perfect happiness and love, and if he was the one who'd been granted the privilege to provide her with that, then surely he couldn't fail. Besides, it had to have been her prayers as well as his own that had brought this miracle about. It was her miracle as much as it was his – _their_ miracle, and at least one of them was truly deserving. And the other, well, he was the lost sheep that had returned to the fold.

A glimpse of golden hair in his peripheral vision was all it took to break his admittedly shaky focus, and when the congregation stood up to sing again, he was undone - he didn't even attempt to find his place in the hymnal and he didn't even particularly care who noticed. Instead he continued to spin his own humble free-form prayers out of the thoughts that came rushing into his mind. He only needed to look at Marian and he understood everything, even if he didn't have the words to articulate it; every beat of his heart for her was a prayer.

And maybe he was getting the love of God and the love of Marian a bit mixed up, but did it matter so much? "God is love," that's what his mother and his Sunday-school teachers used to say... and just looking at his dear little librarian made his heart sing with more than he knew how to express, emotions he'd never known before in his life. Entwined with his love for Marian was an unrestrained feeling of gratitude to this higher power that had surely brought them together, a certainty that there was true goodness in the world after all, a fervent desire to be worthy of her, to be _made_ worthy of her, and to atone for all the sins of his past.

A snippet of half-remembered words of a famous Bible verse came tumbling back into his head:

 _Love is patient, love is kind – it keeps no record of wrongs – it believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things_ _–_

Once again, Harold felt himself teetering on the precipice of understanding something vast and profound. That verse was Marian, every word of it, and the sweet, selfless, pure and unreserved love she had offered him...

To love her, and to be loved by her, forgiven by her, accepted by her, was to come as close to knowing God as any man could.

The _thees_ and _thous_ and the rest of it would come later. He would learn that in time, just as he was going to need to learn music and a fair bit of other things, too. But his newfound knowledge of the benevolent, loving divine was contained within a pair of hazel eyes brimming with love for him, and each and every golden curl. She was his testimony and his truth.

Taking a bit of a risk, Harold discreetly reached for Marian's hand again and squeezed it tightly. He knew he really shouldn't, but as before, it wasn't an attempt at flirtation or distraction. It was simply an overwhelming need to feel her nearness, to communicate the depths of his love and feel hers in return in whatever tiny way he could.

Whether or not she had any idea what was going on in his mind, the risk paid off, because Marian took his hand and kept holding onto it throughout the entirety of the sermon, occasionally glancing over at him with a hint of sweet dreaminess in her expression that belied her otherwise devout attention to the front of the church. And even though he had to resist the urge to lean against her and hold her close right there in the pew, Harold's heart soared so high that everything, everything was prayer.

_Thank you, God, for her. Please make me worthy of her._


	4. Sunday in the Park with Marian

_My worthiness is all my doubt,_ _  
Her merit all my fear,  
Contrasting which, my qualities  
Do lowlier appear;  
  
Lest I should insufficient prove  
For her beloved need,  
The chiefest apprehension  
Within my loving creed.  
  
So I, the undivine abode  
Of her elect content,  
Conform my soul as 't were a church  
Unto her sacrament. _

_~ Emily Dickinson_

xxx

By the time the church service was over, the sun was high in the sky and the weather a good deal hotter... and it was very fortunate that their plans for the day happened to involve eating, because Harold wasn't sure he could go much longer without fainting.

He didn't want to admit his poor decision to Marian, certainly didn't want to worry her, but when he tried to ever-so-casually ask when the food would be ready, she must have perceived something especially ravenous in his demeanor, because she looked at him with a critical eye.

"Tell me you didn't skip breakfast, Harold," she sighed. "You _did_ say that you rushed off to come see me right away."

Sheepish, Harold ran a hand through his hair. "At the time, I was so worked up that I didn't even notice I was hungry. I'm not sure I could have eaten a bite, anyway."

She shook her head in disbelief, hands planted on her hips. "Goodness, what are we going to do with you? This isn't a habit of yours, is it?"

"Not a habit. Today is just – an unusual day." He smiled, a slightly crooked, candid, just-for-her smile that he was greatly enjoying being allowed to show her.

Marian's expression softened, and she gave his hand a little squeeze. "I understand, really," she confided. "I had trouble eating this morning, too. And last night..." A hint of color crept into those lovely cheeks, and she shook her head a little, laughing at herself. "Come, we can go and fill our plates together."

Standing before the expansive tables filled with dishes prepared by so many different River City-ziens reinforced that strange and wonderful new sense of community that Harold had begun feeling at church. He still had a slight instinct to feel like he was intruding, taking something that was never meant for him, but he was _welcomed_ here now. As he selected what he wanted to put on his plate, people smiled at him, made recommendations, remarked with pride on the dishes their wives or sisters or friends had prepared, as if there was nothing more natural than treating him as a neighbor.

Would these same people truly have had him tarred and feathered the night before, or at least stood by and let it happen? It was difficult to reconcile, but Harold had to believe that they wouldn't have _really_ gone through with something so brutal and barbaric, that the talk of such things had been nothing more than angry bluster in the heat of the moment. These were stalwart Protestant types who prided themselves on their moral fortitude, after all, not wild men on the frontier! It was rather a relief for him to conclude that his new neighbors would not have been capable of carrying out Mayor Shinn's threats... even if he could never be exactly sure of that.

When Harold and Marian had filled their plates and returned to the shady place beneath a tree where Mrs. Paroo had told them to meet her, they were rather surprised at what they found there.

"You brought two picnic blankets, Mama?" Marian stammered.

Mrs. Paroo answered with a no-nonsense nod, though there was a twinkle in her green eyes. "Well, there're more than three of us now, aren't there? We could use more room. And besides – you and Professor Hill could do with a little extra space so you can talk, don't you think?"

Blushing furiously, the librarian made a token exclamation of shock at her mother's forwardness, but Harold smiled when he heard her finally whisper "thank you".

As embarrassing as it was to be on the receiving end of such romantic intervention, Harold was immeasurably grateful, too. They'd spent quite a while talking on her porch last night before he'd left, but they'd mostly been trying to make sense of the night's events and the previous month. There was still so much they'd never talked about, with the nature of their courtship so far being as strange as it was. They needed a long, uninterrupted conversation where they shared all the little things that two people so devoted to one another would have known already, under ordinary circumstances. Something to move them that little bit closer to normality.

When Winthrop came back from talking to a friend to sit beside his mother, his face lit up to see his new almost-brother, and he immediately began relating just what he and his friends had been discussing after church. He talked quickly and much of it was hard to follow (though Marian's gorgeous face was simply _glowing_ with happiness as she listened and Harold had to try hard not to moon over her too obviously), but the most relevant tidbit was that apparently, two of Winthrop's new playmates had already expressed an interest in joining the boys' band!

It wasn't surprising, Harold supposed. The band's very public triumph last night couldn't have been better advertising if he'd planned it that way. But while this was undeniably a good thing, it was also an indication that he needed to get serious about the practicalities of running a real music business as soon as possible. Once again, Harold was grateful that it was Sunday and he had some room to breathe.

For a few minutes, the four of them all talked together as they ate, despite the small space separating the two picnic blankets, but whenever there were lulls in the conversation, Harold and Marian began to turn to each other and quietly embark on some of that all-important small talk he'd been anticipating.

They went through the little things that a couple in love ought to know about each other, and doubtless already would if they'd begun courting in a remotely ordinary fashion – dates of birth and ages were some of the most simple but essential facts to start with. He was impressed with himself that somehow he'd guessed her age correctly to the year, and was also relieved that she had no negative reaction to the confirmation that he had nearly a decade on her, though he knew it must have been obvious.

Marian explained to him how her family had moved home to her father's hometown when she was fifteen years of age and Winthrop had yet to even be born; Harold told her how he and his mother had traveled up and down the Eastern Seaboard during his childhood as she moved from job to job, and as such he'd never really called any place home.

"Tell me, do you have a middle name?" he inquired as he leaned back on his arm, somehow even hungrier to learn every little thing about her than he was for the food. "This morning, I woke up full of awe and gratitude for you, and then I realized I couldn't even think the full name of the woman I love! I'd like to correct that right now." He flashed her a grin.

Blushing and flattered, she answered, "Cecilia – Marian Cecilia. My mother does love her saints, and St. Cecilia is the patron of music, so... well, you know how music has always been very important to both of my parents, before me."

 _Marian Cecilia Paroo_. The name rang out in his mind like the chiming of bells, like the glissando of a harp. It was perfect for her, a song of a name, and the meaning only made it more so.

"Musical by name and by nature!" Harold exclaimed, unable to resist blurting out at least one of his embarrassingly flowery thoughts. "Hm, and if your middle name is for a saint, does that mean Marian is after Mary? Ah, the Virgin Mary, you know?"

"I believe so, yes," she answered with a smile.

He found himself unbelievably charmed by every little thing he learned about her. "A lovely name, and a lovely meaning... but with all that religious meaning in your name, I have to ask, if it isn't too invasive of me – where did 'Winthrop' come from, do you know?" He tried hard to mask any indecorous implication that he'd thought that to be quite a lot of name for a little boy, one that could only be explained by some sort of special significance to the parents.

At any rate, there was a sort of knowingness in Marian's expression, as if she understood exactly why he'd feel compelled to ask. "Winthrop is a family name on my father's side, my grandmother's maiden name. In fact, my father was William Winthrop Paroo." She leaned toward him with a glimmer in her eyes and lowered her voice slightly. "Don't think that my mother didn't get her say, though. Winthrop's middle name is Patrick! I'm sure that needs no explanation."

"It certainly doesn't," he laughed.

"But what about you, _Harold Hill_? Did you give yourself a middle name?"

He cleared his throat and shifted a bit on the blanket, wondering how he didn't see this question coming. "I didn't have much use for one, but I think I'll take one now. I was thinking that I'd like to be 'Harold Gregory Hill' – after all, I don't think Marcellus will ever call me anything but 'Greg'! At least this way it'll make a lick of sense."

"I had noticed him calling you that. But that's not your real – um, your birth name, either?"

"No. It's just one that I used for a long time, and the only name that Marce knew me by, up until this month."

Marian's lovely eyes narrowed with measured curiosity, brows knit together in the most adorable way. "It's hard to imagine what it's like for you. Doesn't it get confusing, all these names you've taken on? That is, do you really _think_ of yourself as Harold Hill?"

He nodded, giving her a gentle smile. "I'd gotten used to thinking of myself as Harold Hill quite some time ago. I'd already held onto this name longer than all the others, except the first. And if I ever doubted that it's my true name now, that all ended the first moment I heard you call me Harold. Nothing ever sounded righter and made more sense. And I absolutely love the way you say it."

She raised her eyebrows. "Are there other ways I could say it?"

Harold laughed. "I mean hearing it in your voice."

" _Harold_ ," she ventured, clearly testing his response and maybe trying to hear how she sounded saying it, too. Her head was slightly tilted, eyes twinkling with mischief, and her soft, warm voice caressed his name with such affection that Harold felt his heart about to burst.

"That's it, exactly!" He grinned, not a flashy saleman's grin but a smile of unrestrained joy. He supposed it was because she had never addressed him by that name until she was already in love with him, and he, unknowingly, with her – and because there was something so uniquely sweet and musical about that _voice_ of hers – that made it the most wonderful sound he'd ever heard. Well, except for her _I love you_ last night...

Softly, softly, almost absentmindedly, he ran a finger along his beloved's delicate white arm simply because he couldn't resist, and didn't realize until it was too late how foolish that tiny touch had been. Because now their eyes were locked, she was gazing up into his eyes with obvious, rapt longing, and she looked so delectably kissable that he wanted to take her into his arms right that moment. Never, in all his vast experience, had Harold felt an attraction like this, a passion so overwhelming and volatile, and all for this incredibly innocent woman. It was both thrilling and daunting, because as absolutely _divine_ as he knew it would be once they were someday free to explore this ardor between them, until then he was going to have to be very, very careful. Just the smallest touch could be like the striking of flint and steel, and now was not an appropriate time or place to be making sparks!

Almost at the same moment, the two were able to break out of their reverie and realize that they were getting overly flirtatious only a few feet away from Mrs. Paroo and Winthrop, and edged away from each other, the librarian suddenly concentrating too intently on smoothing out the fabric of her skirt, those kissable lips curved in a self-conscious smile.

Hoping that she hadn't noticed their lapse – or would forgive them if she had – Harold summoned his gift of the Blarney and seamlessly launched into conversation with Mrs. Paroo, asking her about who had cooked the various dishes on his plate. If the matron _did_ notice Marian's sudden flushed state or what had transpired just before that, she didn't mention it. However, there was a knowing look in her merry green eyes as she answered his sudden volley of questions about the food, and it was quite apparent to Harold that, at least in matters of love, Mrs. Paroo could _not_ be easily fooled or distracted. This was one area in which she was formidably astute.

At the very least, though, judging by that gleam in her eyes, she seemed to approve of whatever she'd witnessed.

xxx

After most people had finished eating, the guests began wandering between the blankets to socialize. The same group of boys that Winthrop often ran off to play with after rehearsal soon came by to fetch him, asking if he wanted to join their game of tag, and the young boy was off in seconds as soon as he could get his mother's leave to go, barely sticking around long enough to hear her entreaty not to ruin his clothes. Just like earlier, though, it was plain to see that grass-stained clothes were of very little concern to his mother if it meant her son was having fun.

Moments after Winthrop's departure, Mrs. Paroo very abruptly excused herself as well, explaining that she'd been meaning to go say hello to a Mrs. Brown. Her intention to leave the two new sweethearts alone to talk was incredibly transparent, and Marian blushed furiously at what her mother was doing for her, but Harold noticed that she didn't try for one second to keep her from going, either.

As soon as they were finally alone, Harold and Marian looked at each other, pleased but a little nervous too. They now had their long-awaited opportunity to discuss deeper topics without the risk of being overheard.

The reformed con man was composing a whole carefully-worded speech in his head about how he'd be willing to discuss anything in the world with her, whatever she needed to hear so she wouldn't worry, but it turned out not to be necessary, as his sweetheart spoke before he had the chance to utter a single word.

"Harold?" she ventured, looking a little uncertain.

"Yes?" Covering her small hand with his own, he tried not to let anxiety about what she might be about to say overwhelm him. Still, his heart started to pound as he anticipated her next words.

"W – well." The librarian pressed her lips together nervously, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "Only because you've already sort of said it, I suppose I'd just like to know for sure. Um, what you told me last night, about being in love – is it really true – you never have been, before? Really?"

As her question sank in, he couldn't help but smile, his racing heartbeat slowing down a bit. This was an easy one, nothing to have been anxious about at all.

"Really. Never." Her face lit up in delight at his response, and Harold simply couldn't resist – he leaned in and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to her temple, not particularly caring if anybody saw. "Nothing even close to it. And – you? Never?"

Marian shook her head. "No, not _really_. Schoolgirl crushes, and quite a few of those, but never _this_." She laughed softly at herself. "You see, ever since I was a young girl, I had convinced myself of this fanciful idea of what it felt like to be in love, and, well, this past month, I abruptly learned that I'd had it _entirely_ wrong all that time."

There was so much in Harold's past that he was ashamed of and that had to be difficult for Marian to come to terms with in the man she loved, even if she didn't know the details; he was so glad that he had a clean slate in this one thing, that Marian was his one and only love, and always would be. He was glad she knew it.

Suddenly, a far-less-romantic, but vitally important matter rose to the forefront of his mind. "Now I have a question for _you_. Do the ladies know about your uncle?" he asked as he leaned in, voice low and urgent. "They should know. It's not right if they still think – _that_ about you, even if they do like you now."

"The ladies have been coming to visit me all week," Marian pointed out with a small smile. "They weren't so callous as to bring up _that_ subject, but, well, Ethel Toffelmier and I have actually been talking. She's much closer to my age than most of the ladies, and she's actually very kind. Two days ago, Ethel confessed just how terribly she feels about how she treated me, and I told her the truth – not _quite_ as much as as I told you, but enough for her to understand the true nature of my relationship with Mr. Madison. I'm sure all of the other ladies will know shortly, if they don't already! And of course, if any one of them is so straightforward as to ask for the truth herself, I'll tell her everything."

The weight off his shoulders just to know that those slanderous rumors were finally being put to rest was tremendous. "Good. I'd imagine they must have at least _started_ to figure out for themselves that their story was false, now that they've bothered to get to know you."

"Was it that easy for _you_ to believe it?" Marian inquired.

Harold considered that, trying to recall the moment when he started both realizing, yet foolishly not-realizing, her true nature. "I could never have guessed the exact situation without you telling me, of course but the first time I was able to have a single friendly conversation with you, I could already tell that their story didn't add up. You don't have a cold, conniving bone in your body." What he _didn't_ mention aloud was the lovely, delicate blushing and trembling she'd exhibited from the first time he'd taken her hand, reactions too subtle and unconscious to be feigned.

"Oh, I'd hope you could tell. I'm glad it wasn't – I'm glad you had some idea that it mightn't be true before I told you. That you could see the real me." She looked down at her hands for a moment with a slight blush, then back up at him, composed and resolute once again. "All right, I've thought of another question. How long – how many years did you do – what you did?"

Another easy question, though not quite so comfortable. "About fifteen years, give or take. I was an honest salesman for a short while, before that. But yeah, it was a long time. A long, lonely time. All those years, without a home, without ever forming any attachment to anybody except Marcellus, who I hadn't even seen in _years_ before I ran into him here – that alone should tell you how truly extraordinary you are."

Though she flushed prettily and her eyes glowed, she continued in her questioning unabated. "So how long has it been bands, specifically?"

"Only a few years. In retrospect, it's hard to imagine that it took me that long to come up with the idea, though. You know that I'm no musician, but I've always loved music, even if I never learned much about it formally. That big parade I talked about, when I was a boy, _that_ never happened – "

Marian delicately pressed a hand to her chest in feigned affront. "I'm shocked, truly."

"But there _was_ a parade. Nothing so special, just a local marching band, but it made quite the impact on me. I was younger than Winthrop the first time I watched one of their parades. We moved around a lot, but this was when we were living in New Jersey for a few years." Harold gazed off at the fluffy clouds moving through the sky above them as he became absorbed in the memory. "It was really something, all that booming sound that you could feel in your chest and your bones. And all those different instruments! I didn't even know the word for 'harmony,' but I was enraptured by it. I knew from the first time I saw the band that I wanted to be a part of something like that."

"But you didn't get to be, I assume?" she asked, her voice soft.

He turned back to her and squeezed her hand with affection, grateful to have somebody who cared for him so very much by his side, even if he couldn't understand why. "Well, it was just my mother and me, and we were very poor. I had to work as soon as I was old enough just to help us keep food on our table. I think it goes without saying that I could never afford that instrument, let alone learn how to play it. Instead, I just sang whenever I got the chance, even if it was under my breath while I was off doing odd jobs.

"Years later, when somebody actually invented the steam automobile I'd been claiming to sell and I was suddenly left without a scheme, I thought it could be interesting to try and sell something that actually appealed to me, something that I could show some real enthusiasm for, which is how I came up with the band idea. And, yes, I also knew how excited children could get over instruments, and parents who actually have the money to buy one would be hard-pressed to deny their kids the opportunity to learn such a skill _and_ to be part of a band! But it was a fun fantasy, playing Professor Harold Hill, who could bring music and excitement to even the most dreary town. Even before I came here, there was definitely some deep-down part of me that wished I could really do the things I was claiming I could – a part of me that wondered what kind of man I could have been if my life had been different.

"So I don't want you to doubt whether or not I really want to do this. The real thing, that's going to be a lot harder than pretending, but the payoff will be real, too. I think it's about time that I had something real to work toward."

She'd been looking at him intently, nodding occasionally, the entire time he'd been speaking, and now those sweet features melted into an expression that was soft, affectionate, encouraging, the way she'd looked at him right before he'd had to conduct the band last night. It left Harold helpless and transfixed, and with that now-familiar feeling that everything was a miracle.

"You don't know how much of a relief it is to hear you say that," Marian exclaimed as she continued to beam at him. "It's going to be so much work, and if it weren't something you really, truly wanted, I worried that you'd regret ever deciding to do it." She smiled shyly at him. "I _could_ tell that you really do love music, though, so I hoped so much that you'd feel this way. That it wasn't just a price you were willing to pay for me."

After a moment, a little bit of that familiar tension crept back into her demeanor. At first, he wondered if it might just be shyness, but then he noticed something brave and fragile in her eyes, and Harold was alarmed. Suddenly, she was looking at him like she had last night, when everything was uncertain and a happy ending to what had begun seemed impossible – he'd hoped she would never have reason to look that way again.

"Harold, are you truly, truly certain you can be happy _here_ , though?" she asked in a rush.

He could only stare back at her, utterly shocked. "Of course I'm happy. I've never been happier in my life than I am today," he responded fervently, no hesitation or thought required.

The librarian looked only slightly reassured by that, her brow still knitted in consternation. "Maybe today, because it's all new. But are you certain that you'll – always be happy? You know what it's like here. The most exciting things that have happened in River City since I've lived here were all because of _you_. And here you are, a man who's seen the world – "

"The country, and not even all of that," he amended with a wave of his hand.

"The country, then. You really don't find River City boring? The Fourth of July, the Ice Cream Sociable, the church picnic – you've really seen the most we have to offer already. There are variations, season by season, but the rest of our local institutions are not much different, I'm afraid."

"I know what to expect. I've lived here for a good month, after all, and I saw just what it was like before things changed. Marian, I want to live in River City not only because of you, but because I've found that I _care_ about everybody here." Harold drummed his fingers absentmindedly on the picnic blanket and wracked his brain for a way to explain the recent shift in his outlook. "Before, I always stayed detached by thinking of people almost like characters, archetypes – or maybe chess pieces would be a better metaphor."

"And you were the player," Marian observed, a slight smile returning to her face.

"Yeah," he admitted with a rueful chuckle. "I thought I was so different from everybody else, going about their simple lives. They were ignorant, foolish, naïve, and I could think circles around them."

Marian nodded in understanding, looking more than a little abashed. "In my own way, that's how I felt until very recently too."

"But, see, people aren't like that at all!" Harold exclaimed, swept up in the wonder of the new world that had opened up to him. "No matter where they live or what they do, nobody is so simple as that. Everybody has their own hopes and dreams and talents, their own story to tell, and all of it _matters_. And I'd always thought of the Midwest as hundreds and hundreds of miles of sameness, not just in the landscape but in the way people talk and think and live – but only being here for a month, I've realized that the townspeople who greeted me when I first came here were right. There really is something unique about Iowa." Or maybe that was just a sign that he was truly becoming one of them already, but that wasn't an unwelcome thought, either.

The former con man looked over the crowd of happy picnic-goers with genuine fondness in his heart. Then something occurred to him that he was certain would help to settle any lingering doubts his beloved still harbored. Leaning close to nudge Marian's shoulder, he nodded in the direction of Marcellus and Ethel on a nearby blanket, laughing and talking animatedly. "Hey, you know now that Marcellus' life was a lot like mine before, and he certainly hasn't had a problem settling down here."

She nodded slowly, and Harold could tell that he hadn't fully convinced her yet. "That's true. But I suppose he had more of a choice about it, didn't he? Last night was so – so dramatic, and maybe you weren't thinking clearly – "

He shook his head. "I had a choice. I could have gotten away – you all told me to run, time and again. As a matter of fact, I would have run away _with_ you, if had come to that. I chose you, Marian. And I'll choose you, over and over again, every day."

Her eyes misted over as she drank in his words, and the reformed con man felt so overcome with love that he started to think about how soon he could spirit her away to the footbridge or another similarly secluded location, but then the librarian's face fell ever so slightly and she bit her lip, and he knew it wasn't the time yet, that they still had more to discuss.

"Every day won't be like yesterday, or even like today, though," she said softly, casting her eyes down as she traced nervous little circles on his palm with her thumb.

It may have been an inappropriate gesture when they were in the park surrounded by people, but Harold needed her to look at him as he told her this, so he placed a gentle finger under her chin and tilted her face toward his. "I _know_ that love isn't all kisses under the moonlight and dancing in the park, like last night. I'm afraid that you might be worried that I think that, and that's why you're still afraid that I'll turn tail and leave. I understand there's a lot more to it than that, but I promise that I _want_ it. I want everything with you. And I know this because, when I was trying so desperately not to realize that I love you, the longings that terrified me the most were the ones where I just wanted to _be_ with you, no matter what we were doing. I want to be the person you can complain to when things don't go right at the library. I want to wash dishes with you – rake leaves – hang laundry – I want _everything_ , even when it's dull, even when it's not romantic."

He watched Marian's beautiful eyes light up, and he hoped he'd finally succeeded in proving the seriousness of his decision to her.

"Me, too," she affirmed, and those two simple words were imbued with such love that it put a lump in his throat.

"I know that life in River City is slow, but I want that, too," he continued. "It's wonderful here – it's a home. And the most exciting part is that anyone can make a real difference here, not like if I ran off with you to some big city. When I think of the things that not just you or I, but _so_ many people in this town might do now that they've discovered a real passion for music or dancing or literature… I completely misjudged what life in a little Iowan town could be like."

She patted his hand affectionately. "It just took somebody to shake them – us – out of our complacency."

"The next step is going to take more than that, of course, but I've already started making plans. Tomorrow – well, I'm not sure what I have to do exactly. But I'm going to start looking for a building for sale downtown.. The band can't practice at the high school forever, and what's more, I want to set up a proper shop where I can sell instruments, uniforms, sheet music – mouthpieces and valves and everything that anybody interested in music might need. Learning how to lead a band is going to be a long road, but I think learning how to operate a business will come more easily." Harold could hear his voice growing more confident as he laid out his plans, his hands moving almost of their own accord in excited gestures.

Grabbing his hands and giving them a warm squeeze, Marian beamed at him, clearly encouraged by his enthusiasm. "Oh, yes, I'm certain you have skills that can translate very well into running a business. And you've found a wonderful niche to fill in River City – you certainly know that we have nothing like that here! The market for music is all yours. As a matter of fact, I'm sure you'll get customers from nearby towns as well."

"I know the kids and the parents are going to want me to start rehearsals again as soon as possible. But I think it might have to wait a few days until I can get a plan together." He grimaced slightly, humbled by this much more imposing task. "Next time we have a rehearsal, I'd like it to be a _real_ rehearsal, or as close to one as we can get."

"If you'd like, I can help you – just for the first few rehearsals, at least. You haven't taught them anything about reading sheet music, I assume?"

Harold laughed. "While I do know the – very, _very_ – basics, it wouldn't have been wise to teach them that and nothing else, all while proclaiming that they would never need sheet music! So, no, I haven't taught them anything."

"Well, you and I can work on the very, very basics together for the next couple of nights, and then I can give the boys the same sort of lessons at your next rehearsals. It would be a good starting point, I think. Of course, if you think it's best that you do this alone – "

"I absolutely do not," he responded with a laugh.

"Then, could you possibly come by tomorrow night at 7:30, after I've finished up with Edie Holmes' lesson? You can have dinner with Mama and Winthrop and I, if you'd like – I know they would love that. As would I, of course," she added, blushing.

"I think that sounds absolutely perfect," Harold responded immediately – because it did.

They soon slipped into a comfortable silence, enjoying the nearness of each other, the beauty of the day, and the festive atmosphere, and it felt like they had managed to take a step significantly closer to being an ordinary courting couple.

Harold's first experience of love the night before had been dramatic, a frenzied crescendo of emotion that could have dropped off into abject misery at any moment. Even after everything had been resolved and they were able to sit on her porch together and talk and make sense of things, it had been far from normal or relaxed.

This, today, was slow and easy, every moment an eternity he could luxuriate in. Harold took the opportunity to simply gaze at the woman in his arms, drinking in every detail of her incredible beauty. He could look at every golden hair on her head and see their minute movements in response to the breeze, watch and feel the rise and fall of her chest with every breath… and he was deeply charmed to discover that she had the lightest little freckles here and there on her arms. Closer inspection of her cheeks showed that she had a sprinkling of them on her face, too.

(He tried valiantly _not_ to think of what it would be like to undress her and kiss every tiny freckle all over her body – but he also resolved then and there that he would do exactly that as soon as it was permissable.)

Her eyes, too, were extraordinary up close. When he'd first met Marian, he hadn't been able to tell if her eyes were blue or green, but he knew now that they were in fact hazel – her father's eyes, she'd told him today – and the complexity of their hues was mesmerizing. He was most fascinated by the little copper flecks in them.

He even noticed a slight little unevenness of her front teeth, and he hadn't known that he could be so charmed by something like that. It made her look guileless and youthful in the sweetest way, like somebody who spent a lot of time biting her lip when she blushed. That uneven tooth was like a little hint of human fallibility in her otherwise angelically perfect face, and he adored it.

Harold loved all of her, every tiny thing, and he was absolutely amazed that he was privileged to experience this kind of easy closeness with her when just yesterday it had been a true impossibility. He hoped to never forget that, that even the most mundane and ordinary moments were miracles in themselves now.

Marian Cecilia Paroo was so exquisitely perfect that from the moment he'd laid eyes on her, he could no longer fathom how any other woman but her had ever caught his eye, let alone stirred his passions; regardless, it would never happen again, and he did not feel the least sense of loss about that.

Not wanting to be caught staring at his beloved too intently for too long, either by her or any nosy busybodies, Harold redirected his attention to the scene before them after a time. He tried to follow Marian's gaze, wondering what had caught her attention and what she was thinking about. What caught his eye almost immediately were a couple of kites flying off in the distance, and he wondered who they belonged to. That got him thinking about Winthrop – had Winthrop ever flown a kite? Did he own one? If not, that would be a wonderful thing to surprise him with some time.

It made Harold immensely glad to see that Winthrop was finally enjoying his life again – kids _should_ be happy, safe, and carefree. Harold had never had that chance himself, so he wanted to be there for Winthrop now and give him everything he'd wished he could have had as a child. Having grown up without a father, or even an uncle or any sort of male role model, Harold did worry how he could ever know how to be much of a role model himself. But the way Winthrop looked up to him, learned from him, and enjoyed his companionship had already greatly reassured Harold that he could be a positive influence after all.

And maybe, he realized with a start, his role as an older brother to Winthrop would also serve as a valuable sort of practice for being a father to his own children with Marian.

He'd been repressing his domestic daydreams of a life with Marian for so long that it wasn't all that surprising that his mind was running a bit amok with them now that he was at last free to think that way, and a wonderful, contented warmth spread through his chest at the thought of building a happy little family with the woman he loved. Looking with a wistful smile at a group of children playing in the distance, Harold let himself wonder what his and Marian's kids would be like. He'd actually first imagined them the other day without realizing it, when Marian had mistakenly, obliquely revealed that she'd had to give up on her hopes of motherhood and he'd thought of the family that she deserved to have – _smart, pretty children with honey-blonde curls like hers…_ but now he envisioned them with his eyes, or maybe with chestnut locks like his own and _her_ stunning eyes…

Yet as lovely as it was to contemplate that Marian's future children would now be _his_ , too, it was actually that particular thought that injected a hint of doubt into his daydream and caused a tiny knot of worry to form in his chest. Though he was confident that he was fully reformed now, could Harold be certain that no child of his would turn out to be like him – the _him_ who'd become a con man and a philanderer, anyway? What if it was a trait he could pass on somehow? Those hypothetical kids deserved better than to be like him, and Marian deserved better as their mother, too.

But no, the regrettable way he'd turned out could be attributed far more to nurture than nature, or lack thereof, he reasoned. Growing up in impoverished, hardscrabble circumstances, learning to fend for himself even before his mother had died, had surely been what had started him down the path to a cynical and ultimately criminal existence, not something innate – or how could he have ever found his conscience again when the time was right? Those seeds had been planted by a series of unfortunate life experiences that their children would never, ever have to have. However much his guilt was still weighing on him, he had to remind himself that the con man he'd been was _not_ his true self. There was no need to fear passing on anything more than his smarts and his smile to his children.

That tiny knot in his chest loosened even further as the reformed con man turned to sneak a gaze at the sweet woman sitting by his side. No matter what, their children were already guaranteed to have the best mother in the world, he thought. They'd also have the example of two parents who loved each other more than anything to show them that an honest, respectable life really was the way to happiness, the sort of example that Harold had certainly never had. And, hopefully, by the time their kids were old enough to learn from his example, he would truly, completely _be_ the good man that Marian already saw in him. Together, they would ensure that their children would have a childhood completely different from Harold's, as close to idyllic as could be, and that they would never want for love or anything else. Any other tendencies they might inherit from him would be balanced out by a happy and secure upbringing in a loving family. So how could they be led astray, how could they ever grow to be anything other than upstanding, kind, and wonderful people?

The thought warmed his heart and buoyed his spirits, and he knew there was no need to worry after all. The new Harold Gregory Hill could do anything if he set his mind to it, and that would include being a damn good father once he and his little librarian were so blessed as to bring a child into the world!

Once again, he became aware that he was getting far, _far_ ahead of himself by even thinking about parenthood in such detail – but it was still a delightful thing to think of, a beautiful new life that had opened its path to him, and what was really extraordinary was that Harold did not feel at all dismayed to contemplate such a domestic future. He hadn't felt one inkling of longing for what he'd left behind him since he'd made his decision, not once, and instead, he was dreaming of exactly the same sort of life that he knew Marian wanted, too. Being so recently reformed, it was an incredible relief, this confirmation that it was his callous Casanova persona that had been a disguise and an illusion all along, not the man that he was striving to be now.

When the work week began and he set about to establish his business, he was sure that he would become much more focused on the immediate goals at hand. For now, though, Harold simply wanted to let himself be swept away by awe, basking in the limitless possibilities that lay before them. He let all of his unnecessary anxieties float up and away on the breeze.

Though it was hardly possible to fall asleep in the middle of the park, sitting upright and with people all around, Harold found himself lulled into a sort of dreamy daze as he sat alongside Marian in wordless bliss, soothed by the warmth of her against him and the tuneless music of rustling leaves and grasses and birds and voices in pleasant conversation. For a few seconds, he almost didn't notice when _actual_ music entered the medley – but then, seemingly at the same moment, he and Marian realized that the school board was singing somewhere, and they turned in the direction of the four voices blending in marvelous harmony.

_It's you in the sunrise, it's you in my cup,_

_It's you all the way into town…_

Harold immediately recognized the song as one he'd heard the men rehearsing in the days leading up to the sociable, but he hadn't actually heard them perform it last night – he and the librarian had probably been _absent_ , he realized. As his eyes met Marian's, he saw her blush a little, presumably going through the same thought process.

"I did hear from my mother and a few of the ladies that one of the performances last night was, well, interrupted by everything," she murmured.

"Fortunate that they're giving us an encore, then."

As he sat and allowed the quartet's dulcet tones to wash over him, Harold was almost stunned by how perfectly the words described the way he felt about her, how it felt to be in love, to have one woman at the center of his universe.

He had to laugh at himself, in retrospect, as he realized just how many signs he'd managed to completely ignore over the past month. He remembered feeling a peculiar, sentimental ache when he'd first heard the school board rehearsing this song and listened to the lyrics, though it was easy to quell the feeling when there was no hint of a cause or explanation. A couple of days after that, he'd crossed paths with Marian in the high school hallway as he was leaving and she was entering, and the distant sounds of the quartet's rehearsal of that same romantic song had without a doubt contributed to the intensity of that unsettling pang he had been feeling more and more often whenever he met her eyes. He felt it now, too, though it wasn't the least bit uncomfortable anymore.

"It's you," he whispered low in her ear, making her giggle.

Maybe the implication of "on my pillow" was too much, maybe that was why Marian blushed more fiercely than expected, but she seemed quite untroubled, all things considered. "It's you, too," she whispered back.

When the men concluded their song and the park burst into applause, Harold was too caught up in gazing at his love to even spare a glance toward the performers.

He didn't want to come on too strong – not like last night when he'd tried to practically drag her off the park pavilion in his sheer desperation to finally kiss her – but his patience had worn incredibly thin. He was furiously calculating how he could steal her away from this place in the most proper and gentlemanly way when, lacing her fingers with his, Marian tugged ever so slightly on his hand.

"Would you like to take a little walk with me?"

Harold broke into a grin, surprised and thrilled that she was already comfortable enough with their new dynamic to be the one to invite him on a stroll. "I'd be more than happy to, Madam Librarian," he answered earnestly. Casting a glance around to ascertain the whereabouts of Mrs. Paroo, he found his beloved's mother in animated conversation with a couple of other River City matrons. "Do you think we should tell your mother we'll be gone?"

"Well, we'll only be taking a walk in the park. I don't think she'll worry. All the same, though, maybe I _should_ tell her." Suddenly she was pink to the tips of her ears. "I wouldn't want to give the appearance of – sneaking off," she whispered, mortified.

Harold nodded. "Let's let her know, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the inelegant ending to this chapter, but this and the next chapter were split more for length than for narrative purposes!


	5. The Beginning of Forever

_All those days chasing down a daydream_

_All those years living in a blur_

_All that time never truly seeing_

_Things the way they were_

_Now she's here, shining in the starlight_

_Now she's here, suddenly I know_

_If she's here, it's crystal clear_

_I'm where I'm meant to go_

_~ Tangled, Alan Menken_

xxx

Mrs. Paroo had a hint of a mischievous twinkle in her eye when they briefly informed her of their plans to go for a stroll together, and though Marian was clearly embarrassed by it, Harold found himself feeling somewhat honored. The Irishwoman expected, even condoned, that they might get up to the tiniest bit of canoodling, but she obviously trusted completely that he would _not_ attempt to seduce Marian into engaging in the more wicked sort of "sneaking off" that the librarian had blushingly insinuated a moment before.

It was only natural that a loving mother would fiercely defend her child's virtue and heart from any risk of harm, even if that child was fully grown, and for Mrs. Paroo to put such easygoing trust in him when just last night he'd been revealed to be a criminal was truly astonishing. Then again, she _had_ left them alone on the porch last night, too, so perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised. If they'd had any plans to go running off to his hotel room together, they probably could have gotten away with it more easily last night than they could have in broad daylight on a Sunday!

True, Mrs. Paroo hadn't exactly exhibited the most skeptical shrewdness over the past month, and even though she now knew the truth about him, it was possible that she was simply a person who trusted too easily. But Harold was still absolutely determined to prove himself worthy of Mrs. Paroo's trust as well as her daughter's.

As he and Marian slipped away together onto the little winding path through the trees, the reformed con man could feel his heart beginning to race already. He had to restrain himself from pulling her close and kissing her as soon he was fairly certain they were hidden from view, both because he did not want to overwhelm her and because he really _did_ want to do some talking before the not-talking began.

Harold was amazed that he could feel such a dizzying rush just from kisses and cuddles, and to desire them so fiercely. He hadn't felt like this about such innocent canoodling since he'd been a teenager who'd still believed in finding that girl of his dreams. And it had still never felt anything like this back then – the most he'd felt for any of those teenage sweethearts was simply shallow infatuation. After he'd gotten a bit older and discovered the sort of things that lay beyond mere kisses, he'd never again found much excitement in such affections without the promise of much more. But everything was different with Marian. Their first kiss last night had instantly taken its place as the most electrifying moment of his life, so much better than the hollow pleasure of every heartless tryst he'd ever had. The blissful kisses they had shared on her front porch after they knew he was free to stay with her forever had proven to be even more divine. Now, today, Harold wanted nothing more than to steal away with Marian just to hold her close and get further acquainted with those impossibly sweet lips of hers.

His thoughts were not quite as pure as his intentions, though, as a newly-minted gentleman, he tried his best not to let them wander _too_ far.

Because, even in that prim white lawn dress that couldn't have been more symbolic if she'd done it on purpose, he couldn't help but look at the way she walked, especially when she got a little ahead of him. The librarian was nothing if not decent, proper, and modest, yet even so there was a hint of a sashay in her movement, all sleek, flowing feminine curves, especially when she was relaxed and happy, like now. When he'd thought that there was any possibility that Marian was in fact a scarlet woman, he'd interpreted the subtle sway of her hips, the vaguely suggestive arch of her eyebrow, as evidence of the scandalous secret she was poorly concealing from the town. Now that he knew the truth about the librarian, her air of unconscious sensuality was even more fascinating and alluring.

All of this insinuated a great, glorious passion that waited to be awakened within this innocent woman – and here he'd believed that virtuous women were all dull and frigid not so long ago! There was nothing in the world that had ever been more thrilling than the prospect of being the one to awaken Marian, the one and only man she would ever be awakened _for_. Harold could so easily imagine her adorable features taking on a mischievous expression of knowing ardor, big hazel eyes simmering with passion, that sway of her hips more purposeful than it was now as she moved to embrace him and press in close…

He was doing himself no favors by thinking of these kinds of things today, Harold scolded himself with a quick pinch to the inside of his wrist for good measure. Deciding it might be better, for the present moment, to walk beside her instead of behind her, he stepped forward and extended his hand. "Come here, darling."

As she took his hand, Marian's expression melted into one of stunned disbelief, eyes wide and wet with tears. It _seemed_ like they were likely tears of happiness, but Harold had to make sure of that.

Gently, he turned her to face him. "Marian? Are you all right?"

The librarian gave him a broad smile through her tears, which reassured him immediately and eased the flip-flopping of his stomach. "Oh, better than all right. I just love – hearing you call me darling. I always dreamed of someone who'd call me things like that… It's all so _much_."

"It feels good to say it," Harold marveled as he wrapped his arms around her, leaning his cheek against her golden hair and breathing her in. "I've never called anybody 'darling' before, you know. But you absolutely deserve to be called that. You're my darling, dear, little librarian."

Now she was crying openly – not weeping or sobbing, thankfully, just an outburst of overflowing tears that she couldn't hold back. Harold handed her his handkerchief without a second thought, and she dabbed at her eyes gratefully, leaning against him as he held her. "I must look so foolish right now. I'm just happier than I ever thought I would be."

He stroked her back firmly, assuring her, "Not foolish in the least."

When she'd gotten her breathing under control, Marian looked up at him with a sweet, trembling smile. "Harold – darling," she ventured, blushing pleasantly.

Warmth spreading through his chest, the reformed con man could understand why she'd been so overwhelmed when he'd called her that. Certainly, he hadn't _always_ been dreaming of being called that sort of endearment, the way Marian had – but in his most secret longings that he'd tried so desperately to stifle all month until last night, he'd wanted nothing more than to hear her declare her love and affection for him in every large and small way he could imagine. She was his darling and he was hers, and that was a very, very nice thing to be.

Unable to let that go by without some expression of his complete adoration, Harold hugged her close and kissed her cheek. He meant to only bestow a single kiss, but her intoxicating scent and softness spurred him on to cover that cheek in a flurry of kisses until she was giggling.

He spoke low and close to her ear, simply because he knew it would delight her. "Instead of the footbridge today, I thought we might head over to that hollow log we never got to sit on last night, unless you had something else in mind."

"Just to talk?" she inquired, eyes twinkling, a shy little smirk shaping her lovely lips.

Harold grinned. "I really do want to talk, you know. Although, now that we're finally alone, we can do this…"

He demonstrated with a brief, tender kiss on her lips, and even that small moment was enough to make her wrap her arms around his neck and melt against him. The temptation to simply give in and keep kissing her was powerful, but there was another matter to be dealt with still – so he pulled away, reveling in how beautifully happy she looked and how sweetly she blushed, and then led her in the direction of the log again.

Once they were seated side by side, Harold took her hand and drew in a deep breath. "There's something I'd like to give you."

He was actually nervous now, despite how convinced he had been this morning of the brilliance of his idea, although he was less nervous about what he was actually going to say and more that she would stop him, thinking he was about to do something impossibly foolish, like propose.

"Oh?" Marian looked only slightly concerned about where he might be going with this, which Harold considered a great success, all things considered.

"You see, I – I lost my mother when I was seventeen," he blurted without preamble, wanting to get on with his explanation before she could get the wrong idea. "She was all I had in the world, really, the only person who cared about me, and losing her was what forced me out onto the road for life. I haven't called any place home since then. I do have a couple things of hers that I've kept with me all these years, though. I didn't look at them or even think about them very often, but I feel like something about carrying my mother's treasures with me kept me human, kept me aware that there was something more in the world than money and – well. Whatever deep-down goodness that you managed to see in me, I think that must have been the part of me that cherished my mother's memory." He took the brooch from his pocket and pressed it into her small hand. "This is one of those treasures, and I want you to have it."

Much as he'd expected, Marian looked up at him in wide-eyed astonishment, shaking her head slowly. "Harold, I can't accept this."

"Well, _I'm_ not going to wear it, am I?" he teased gently.

"But you should _have_ it," she protested, pushing it back toward him. "Something like that is far too important to just give away."

Undeterred, Harold cupped her hand in his own and, one by one, drew her fingers up to close around the brooch. "I'm giving it to you, but I wouldn't call that giving it _away_. Marian, unless you tell me otherwise, I don't ever plan to be anywhere you're not from now on. I mean that." With his other hand, he tilted her face up toward his in a motion that was already becoming familiar, gazing deeply into those bewitching hazel eyes as he spoke. "My mother would have wanted you to have something of hers even if she were alive today, I'm sure. She would have adored you – and she'd love how happy you make her son."

Marian's eyes welled up, her expression soft and tender. "I'm sure she knows," she responded, and the absolute certainty in his beloved's voice gave him a feeling of peace he'd never known in relation to the loss of his mother. Under his own fingers, he felt hers enclose the brooch with confidence at last. "I'll treasure it, Harold," she said softly. "I can't imagine how much this means to you. To trust _me_ with it – "

"You know why." He drew her free hand to his lips and pressed a series of tender kisses against it.

Though she sighed happily at his caresses, her expression soon turned a little pensive. "I really am so sorry for what you've been through," she said in a near whisper. "I know that doesn't help, saying that, but – I'm terribly sorry."

How many years had it been since anyone had expressed a sentiment like that for him? What's more, he knew that from Marian, it was utterly genuine, coming from a place of pure goodness – she really, truly couldn't bear to think of him ever being unhappy, an impulse which he could easily understand because it was the same way he felt about her. The warmth and comfort of her words affected him so profoundly that Harold could only respond by wrapping his arms around her and reveling in her nearness. Still, he couldn't help but feel guilty for accepting the kindness that she offered him so freely. He was no innocent victim, at least, not anymore – and his childhood didn't excuse the way he'd chosen to live his life up until last night.

He let out a bleak laugh. "I think I've done enough since then to make me unworthy of your sympathy."

"Enough of that, now," she admonished immediately with a firm shake of her head. "Nobody deserves the pain of losing a parent – I know what that's like. And you, you were so _young_ , and _alone_. You should never have been forced to live that way, It's no wonder, well, it's no wonder that you ended up going down the wrong road." She actually blushed slightly, as if she were worried that stating the obvious fact that he'd made the wrong choices in life was somehow _impolite_.

Tightening his arms around her, Harold sighed. "You really do have the sweetest, kindest heart. It was a long, long time ago, Marian. And all of it brought me to you, and I'm firmly on the right road now, if you'll help guide me along it."

"Of course! I will always – I mean, that is – I'd be happy to walk that road by your side. If you'd like that." At once she averted her eyes from his, evidently embarrassed by her own words.

Harold realized that Marian was currently struggling with the same problem he was. She was obviously trying not to be too boldly declarative, trying not to frighten him away – and, probably, trying to keep from sounding like she was urging him toward that marriage proposal that he, in turn, was afraid to accidentally blurt out, in so many words!

It was a fine line to tread, but Harold thought he should make the reason he'd given her the brooch abundantly clear, because he didn't want her doubting for an instant that he wanted her by his side forever and always, even if he couldn't dare to _say_ that just yet.

"I should be the one telling _you_ I'm sorry for what you went through – you've known your fair share of heartache, and a lot more recently, too. And I almost made it worse, if I hadn't come to my senses." He grimaced at that thought, then kissed her forehead gently. "But I promise, there won't be any more, not ever, ever again. Not because of me, and not because of anything I can prevent. See, that's my promise to you. You gave me yours last night when you handed that page from the Indiana Journal over to me – now, here's mine."

Understanding passed over Marian's face and made her glow from within, and it was all Harold could do not to kiss her, but he had the presence of mind to remember that she still held the brooch in her hand. And as much as he wanted to keep her entwined snugly in his embrace, he thought it was best that he give her a little space until she decided what she wanted to do with it.

She held it up to the light filtering through the trees, enchanted by the way the colors shifted in the tortoiseshell, just as he always had been. "Could I actually wear it?" she inquired. "It's not too fragile, or old?"

"Of course you can. You don't have to, of course. I'm sure it's very old-fashioned – "

She shook her head vehemently and began to open the clasp. "It's beautiful."

Harold thought it would be nice to be the one to pin it on her, but realized with a jolt in his stomach that that would mean putting his hands far too near to her chest to be proper, at least at this early stage in their relationship. He had to laugh at himself for that – he was thinking like a nervous teenager far too often today! But then, he had reason to be. He'd had no experience in anything resembling a genuine romance since then.

After watching Marian fumble with the clasp and the fabric of her high neckline for several moments, though, he determined that the only gentlemanly thing to do was to help her – and the awkward maneuvering it took to finally fasten it seemed to be enough to take both of their attention away from the fact that he was touching her neck.

When it was finally in place, Harold quickly but carefully neatened her collar and sat back to take in how it looked on her – as well as her reaction to wearing it. There was something reverent in her eyes as her fingers delicately traced the brooch at her throat.

The librarian looked up at him thoughtfully for a long moment, and just when he was on the verge of asking her just what she was thinking, she said something entirely unexpected.

"I've been thinking about my father, and Uncle Maddy, too – and I'm certain that they'd love you as well. I'm sure they must be smiling down on you, too, seeing how happy you make me."

Eyebrows raised, Harold shook his head. "Now you're just saying that."

"Really, though! Uncle Maddy was quite the well-traveled man of the world himself as well, and Papa – well, as much as I insisted that I didn't care about that sort of thing, he always thought I would fall for a man who had big dreams."

He opened his mouth to make a self-deprecating remark, but Marian was quicker, pressing a gentle finger to his lips. "You _are_ that kind of man. What you told me earlier about when you were a boy, the way the parade inspired you – if the circumstances had been different, you might have followed this dream from the start."

"For whatever reason, I guess I had to find you first," he mused, gently trailing a finger along her lovely cheek. "And – I'm so glad I did."

Marian's gaze turned dreamy and adoring. "So am I," she whispered, almost sighing.

When the woman he loved with all his heart looked at him so warmly and entreatingly, it was impossible for Harold to resist her any longer. Drawing her into his arms, he met her lips with his own.

Now that they were no longer in such a delicate and precarious situation as last night, and finally hidden from public view, Harold wanted to take his time and luxuriate in kissing her. There was still a fine balance to be struck, though – he didn't want to get himself too hot under the collar and do something he'd regret, for one thing, and he also didn't want to frighten her or make her think that he was trying to push her boundaries.

He still kept his kisses chaste and gentle, but now he took his time, allowing himself to kiss her over and over, stroking her hair and her cheeks. She seemed to get the idea quite easily, and soon she was giving him playful little kisses in return, arms wound around him and fingers tentatively sinking into his hair.

Encouraged by her response, Harold decided to introduce her to a little bit more of what kissing could be like, nibbling at her lower lip. He could feel her gasp and tense up against him, and he immediately pulled back to ensure that he hadn't upset her. One look at her face proved that couldn't have been further from the truth, though, and also sent a rush of heat through his body – Marian was looking at him in absolute dazed wonder, eyes clouded with desire and longing as they'd been when they stood face-to-face on her porch yesterday evening.

Harold knew that he would need to stop kissing her soon or his own desires were going to carry him into dangerous territory, but he couldn't stop now, not until he'd pulled her close again and repeated that nibble at her lips again and again, glorying in the little catches in her breathing and the way she learned so easily to kiss him back in kind. He wouldn't have dared to try and slip his tongue between her lips at this point, but he did trace her lower lip with his tongue lightly, briefly, just to give her an inkling of the idea, and he was beyond elated by the tiny whimper she let out. He was determined to be satisfied with that alone for now – to prevent himself from escalating things any further, he returned to chaste, close-mouthed kisses, nuzzling her until her lips turned up into a smile against his.

When they parted, neither of them said anything for a while, and as he held her tightly in his arms, she nestled her head against his shoulders with a happy sigh.

As calm and peaceful as he felt, Harold's head was still spinning from their kisses, his pulse pounding; if _that_ was how she'd reacted to such a small, _tiny_ new sensation, imagine – _imagine_ –

Although the knowledge of how innocent Marian was helped him in his efforts to be a perfect gentleman, it didn't help that her innocence actually _fueled_ plenty of those thoughts rather than dispelled them, a phenomenon he'd never known before. Harold couldn't help but fantasize about what it would be like to introduce her to the first glimmers of sensual pleasure, awakening desires she didn't realize she had, satisfying her in ways she'd never known she needed to be satisfied, drawing out the most intimate form of that vivacious passion with which she approached everything. He was almost overwhelmed by the sheer eroticism of it.

Despite her inexperience and impeccable virtue, it was incredibly obvious that his little librarian wanted him – though he doubted she fully understood exactly what it was she wanted – and sweetly, gently teaching her to blossom was going to be glorious.

He thought of her last night, the way she'd leaned into his kisses so desperately on the footbridge even as her embrace remained utterly chaste; the hungry, eager longing in her eyes as she'd sat on his knee after they'd danced on the pavilion; the way she'd swooned and practically _moaned_ when he'd stood on her front porch with her and told her to meet him at the footbridge. And the way she'd reacted to the light touch of his tongue on her lips just now, that little whimper that gave him a pleasantly maddening hint of what she would sound like in the throes of passion. So many brief, tantalizing glimpses of the kind of lover Marian would be… and she would be _his_ lover, only ever his.

This was _not_ the time or the place to be contemplating something so dangerous, Harold knew. He would discover all of her beautiful reactions and responses someday, but that was still far away, too far away to contemplate when this was only their first full day together and he had no idea how long it might be before they could wed. It was imperative that he learned how to kiss and canoodle with her while always being mindful of the fact that it would absolutely not lead anywhere further, something he needed to be content with instead of frustrated.

There was no longer the same wild desperation between them as there had been last night, now that they could kiss whenever they could find the privacy to do so, now that his love for her and future in River City were secure, and, of course, because of that unspoken knowledge that every one of their desires would be fulfilled someday. That was what made it easier to take a deep breath and encourage himself to take things slowly.

There was beauty and sweetness and romance in the delay, the longing, the thought of _finally, finally_. Harold could see now why this was the way things ought to be done, that there was value in the waiting beyond mere conformity to strict social mores. The absolute certainty and trust that would exist between the two of them by the time they at last made love was beyond what he could imagine, even in all his vast experience – and not only was it what she deserved, but what he now sincerely wanted for the both of them. Not for a moment did he want her to feel the slightest doubt or misgiving when she gave her entire self to him in lovemaking; no, she would feel only joy and desire and love. That was what would give him the strength to pace himself and wait however long they had to wait, even in the arms of the most beautiful and irresistible woman in the world.

It was astonishing, the things Harold was learning about his own nature just from one day of honest living. After all, if he were truly an irredeemable scoundrel, he'd have been thinking of this in grudging, resentful terms, secretly wishing that she'd relent at some point, yet he hadn't thought like that even for a moment. He'd been feeling afraid that Marian was wrong to trust him, but he'd been underestimating himself. Nothing mattered to him more than Marian's happiness – nothing even came close.

Strange, too, how only yesterday his ideas of "safe" and "dangerous" thoughts had been so completely opposite. Then, he had concentrated on the promise of the physical consummation of their relationship to distract himself from his unruly emotions, yet now the sweet, domestic thoughts that had been so forbidden before were what kept him from constantly dwelling on how badly he _wanted_ her.

Love couldn't change that all-consuming desire, and, after a moment of white-knight foolishness had passed, he affirmed that it shouldn't, either. It would be horribly wrongheaded to convince himself that Marian was above that, somehow, being his beloved. No, it was exactly what she was due, in fact – all of his passion, his desire, his _talents_ dedicated to her and no one else from now on. He was quite confident that his darling would enjoy the sort of marriage he could give her _much_ more than some chaste white-knight fantasy, and that she had equal ardor to render him in return. At least in this one way, Harold had no doubt that he was the very best man for her!

Now that he knew that he loved her, he was more determined than ever that Marian would absolutely adore making love with him when the time finally came, and unlike his original designs, they wouldn't be together only once or twice, but forever and ever, and she would come to know him fathoms better than any other woman ever had or ever would. He couldn't even begin to imagine what that kind of profound intimacy would be like, any more than she could, but God, he wanted it.

Before he could get carried away with any more of these overly heated imaginings, Harold decided that he'd better break the silence between them soon. Pressing a soft kiss to her temple, he murmured, "Do you think we ought to head back to the picnic soon?"

Marian laughed lightly and brought her hand up to cover his, which was resting on her shoulder at present. "That would probably be wise, wouldn't it?"

She stood up and, turning bright pink, attempted to discreetly dust off the seat of her pristine white dress. In an effort to be a gentleman, Harold tried, desperately, not to think too much about that, certainly not to think that maybe someday, she'd let _him_ do that for her – and then, of course, it was already too late and he'd thought all of it and more, thought of his hands tracing the exquisite curve of her backside, how _soft_ she would be, and oh God, he needed to save thoughts like this for when he was alone in his hotel room and _not right now_. It was a practical idea as well as a hedonistic one, to stow away those thoughts for later enjoyment – after all, he would do well to take the edge off his lust on a regular basis if he was going to keep control of himself over the coming months until he could finally wed his beautiful librarian.

Swallowing hard, he tucked her arm into his. He knew it would have been the gentlemanly thing not to acknowledge what she'd just had to do whatsoever, but he felt a bit guilty that his own idea about sitting on the hollow log may have mussed her dress and endangered her reputation. So he had to ask. "Your, ah, dress, is it all right? I should have realized – "

A nervous giggle escaped her as she shook her head. "Oh, don't worry about that. It's just a bit of tree bark, not dirt. And we've all been sitting on blankets on the ground all day, anyway. I'm sure it's fine."

It would have been helpful, he thought, if he could have _looked_ to ensure there was no bark clinging to the white fabric, but of course he couldn't do that, and Harold was left feeling rather helpless over the whole thing.

Fortuitously, Marian provided a complete change of subject a few moments later. "Oh! I just remembered. Mama is going to ask you to dinner tonight, I think. I know we've been together all morning and afternoon, so maybe you won't want to – please know that you don't have to, I didn't tell her to do that! I imagine we won't even be particularly hungry tonight after this luncheon, I don't know _what_ she's thinking - "

"Now, Miss Marian!" Harold had to laugh as he cut off her anxious rambling, squeezing his arm tightly around her waist as they walked. "Do you honestly think there's anywhere in the world I'd rather be except with you? You think I'd rather go back to the hotel by myself and sit alone all evening than have a lovely dinner with your family?"

She looked adorably flustered. "Well, really, I, I don't know?"

With a soft chuckle, he dropped a warm kiss on her forehead – probably the last he could afford to steal for a while, as they were almost back to the more populated area of the park. "If she asks, I will tell her that there's nothing I'd like more than to join you all. I mean it, too." Just before the turn of the path that would bring them out into the view of the general public, Harold stopped and clasped Marian's hands in his own. "You have no idea what an honor it is to be welcomed into – welcomed _by_ your family like this." Mortified by this accidental admission of his most private thoughts, Harold was ready to fire off a clever verbal volley to distract from his slip-up. But when Marian looked back at him with eyes aglow, evidently entirely untroubled by his words, he decided to let it be.

"I hope I don't sound terribly silly by saying that this has already been the happiest day of my life. Oh, I know nothing has even really happened, but, well. You know why." She blushed and looked down at her hands, but he could see she was still smiling.

He brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek. "Nothing silly about that, darling. I've been feeling the exact same way." His tone was soft and candid, a manner of speaking to which he was still entirely unaccustomed, but she brought it out of him so easily. So candid, in fact, that Harold felt dangerously close to saying something he shouldn't. Though he'd confessed his love wholeheartedly last night, today he didn't dare to speak the word again in fear of sounding like he was rushing into things. If she'd done so first, he would have gladly reciprocated, but since she'd not said it, either, he erred on the side of caution and tried to find other ways to express his adoration and devotion. After a few tongue-tied moments – how could she always render him speechless, again and again? – he settled on a declaration that was still playful and lighthearted, but carried with it the full truth of what he vowed to give her without sounding like a premature proposal. Stealing one more brief, sweet kiss from those lovely lips, he told her: "You deserve nothing but happy, wonderful days, if I have anything to say about it. Today is just the first of many, many, many." He brushed the brooch at her throat with his thumb, intended as a reminder of his promise to her without being excesssively declarative.

"Oh, Harold," she sighed, features melting into that beautiful dreamy expression he'd already gotten to know well, and he might have pulled her right back into his arms for another, deeper kiss, but he thought it was better to practice exercising his self-control when he could. Besides, if he'd simply given in to kissing Marian as much as he wanted, they'd never get back to the picnic! Later tonight, he would kiss her good night on her front porch for certain, anyway, and then he'd walk back to the boarding house with the feel of her lips still on his own, and tuck himself into bed with a thousand beautiful and tender fantasies that he'd dream of every night until he could make them into reality.

Taking her arm tenderly, he inquired, "Shall we – darling?"

And his little librarian, alight with that expression of dreams-come-true that he hoped he could bring to her face every single day from now on, nodded as she nestled against him, a few curls bouncing girlishly despite her elegant chignon in an echo of those sweet banana curls he couldn't wait to see again. Again he felt an onrush of gratitude toward that divine force he could barely understand – it was inconceivable how he'd been delivered from desolate loneliness, a depraved lifestyle, and, more literally, handcuffs, direcly into the arms of this gorgeous woman with the warmest, most loving heart. But however it had happened, he couldn't believe his good fortune.

Side by side and arm in arm with his beloved Marian, the newly christened Harold Gregory Hill walked back into the clearing to rejoin his neighbors, his friends, his family, and for the first time in his life he knew that he was exactly where he belonged.


End file.
